Winter's End
by Vccle10
Summary: Kaila Liebgott is a 26-year old grad student finally dealing with her alcoholism. James Buchanan Barnes is...well, you may know him better as the Winter Soldier. Two broken people, two different lives, one love story to heal them both.
1. Prologue

*Kaila's POV*

There are things I can't stand: being late and asking for help. When these things happen I panic. When I panic, I drink. When I drink I end up back in Alcoholics Anonymous. And when I'm in AA, there are meetings to panic about being late for and people whose help I need. It's a damn never ending cycle.

Unfortunately for me, my anxiety over tardiness significantly outweighs my dislike of asking for help, leading me to this moment, standing in front of Apartment 7C with my fist hovering over the door. I don't even know the guy. I literally just watched him move in a couple weeks ago, noticing his large build, untidy hair, and not much else. He seemed the loner type, considering that whenever we crossed paths in the hallway and I gave him an awkward smile, he seldom nodded and never spoke. He just doesn't come across as the people type. Though in all fairness, my smiles aren't exactly a ray of sunshine either.

I would not be here if it weren't for my stupid alarm clock, and the fact that it never goes off when I need it to. Yes, it's old, yes, it has seen better days, but it literally has one job. Tell the time, and get me up when I need to be up. Seriously. One job.

So of course, I've missed the bus. And there is no way in hell that I will trust a cab to get me to my meeting on time, leaving me no other option than to ask the strange man who lives across the hall. If I were tall, thin, and blonde I'm sure I would be an easy yes, impossible to deny. But as I stand in front of his door with unruly hair, a squat body, and scuffed winter boots, I can't help but feel my chances slipping away. I'm probably going to miss the meeting unless I cry and guilt trip him, which is where I'm at in my life. I am a 26 year old Columbia grad student with massive debt, a cramped apartment, and a drinking problem. At this point, I have no shame.

Running my hands over my face I exhale quickly and promptly knock on the door. I can hear shuffling from inside, followed by the latch coming undone. The door opens, and I step back, taking in the form now standing in front of me. He's always taller than I remember, though just as intimidating and attractive. His brown hair brushes his shoulders and guarded blue eyes stare down at me. Light stubble covers his pronounced jaw line, and his black long sleeve fits snugly along his broad chest and shoulders. I'm not the type to be at a loss for words, but whenever I'm in his presence (though it's often brief) I find myself tongue-tied.

"Hey," he says, looking me over, eyes lingering on my beat up boots. "Uh…can I help you?"

I force a smile, willing the words to come. "Yeah, actually. I know this is probably super inconvenient, but I've missed my bus and I have an appointment in like, 15 minutes, and I don't trust a cab to get me there. Could you…do you think you could give me a ride?"

He looks surprised, running a hand through his long hair. "Uh…yeah. Sure. I can do that. Where to?"

I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. This is embarrassing, but I've reached the no shame place, remember? "My Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, actually." My right foot kicks lightly against the ground in discomfort, though I force myself to remain staring into his eyes. I can feel my chin lift slightly, daring him to say something at my confession. "I can give you the address, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I'm in recovery right now, and I just started so I really uh…I could really use some help."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Of course. Yeah. Just let me um…let me grab my stuff. One sec."

He steps back into his apartment, returning less than a minute later with a black winter jacket and car keys, pulling another glove over his right hand. Was there already a glove on his left? I can't remember. I give him a little smile, and we walk down the stairs to the lobby of the apartment.

We remain silent as we buckle into his unexpectedly nice Audi, and I give him the address to plug into the GPS. The minute we take off, I grip the handle on the ceiling. It's not that he's a bad driver; I'm just not over the "incident" yet, the incident which caused me to seek solace from a bottle in the first place.

If my new neighbor notices my odd behavior he's kind enough not to mention it, focusing intently on the lanes and lights ahead of him. I stare ahead pointedly as well, willing every car to stop when they're supposed to, to follow the laws of the road. I occasionally close my eyes for a millisecond at a time, hating how the simple act of driving is something that now brings me complete terror.

"I'm Kaila," I say after about five minutes of silence. Talking helps relieve the tension knotting in my chest. "Kaila Liebgott. I was going to bring you over a welcome dish when you moved in, but I, uh, forgot that I can't cook."

The tiniest smile appears on his lips, and he takes his eyes off the road to glance at me, giving me a slight heart attack. _Keep your eyes on the road dammit._

"Maybe I lucked out then," he responds.

I chuckle. "Believe me, you did."

Silence returns, but to push down my rising anxiety I speak again. "What's your name?"

"Oh," he says. "Sorry. I'm James Barnes. Nice to formally meet you."

I nod. "You too. Is this your first time living in New York?"

His jaw clenches for a second, and I wonder what I did wrong, before he answers, "I've lived here before. It was a long time ago though. When I was a kid. I've just recently returned."

"Cool," I say. "I've lived here my whole life. Grew up in Brooklyn."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "What do you know. Me too."

"Maybe we were neighbors," I say jokingly.

He winces slightly, so subtly I almost miss his discomfort. "I don't think so."

And silence resumes.

When we arrive outside of the AA building, I let out a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the car and tense silence with James. As I walk towards the building door after thanking him for the lift, he rolls his window down, letting out a "hey" to get my attention.

I turn. "Yeah?"

"Do you need a ride home?"

I stuff my hands in my jacket pocket, looking at the ground and then back up at him. I don't want to be a pain, but another free ride would be amazing. I hate vehicles as it is, and the last thing I want to do is pay for something that could lead to my grisly death.

James must see the struggle on my face, because he quickly ends my misery. "I'll just pick you up here, alright? What time should I be back?"

"In an hour. If it works for you. Seriously, you've done so much already, I don't want to take advantage…"

He waves a hand in dismissal. "It's fine. I'll be back for 11:00. Have a good meeting."

"Thanks," I say, giving him one last smile before turning back to the black handled door. I shiver slightly at the brisk December air, blowing into my hands once I step into the comforting heated lobby. Checking in at the front desk, I glance over my shoulder, watching James' car pull out onto the crowded street, internally praying that he makes it home safe and sound.


	2. Chapter 1: Band of Brothers

*Bucky's POV*

This is the eighth Saturday in a row that I've waited on my couch for that knock.

 _Eight_. Eight Saturdays of driving Kaila to her meetings, eight mornings waiting outside with her favorite coffee, eight weeks of wondering why I've kept it up for so long.

My life's a mess. Anyone who knows the real me knows that. If it weren't for Steve or the rest of the Avengers, I might still be a mindless killing machine. Thanks to the sequences of tests and surgeries conducted in Wakanda, I've been promised that the Winter Soldier is out for good. Unfortunately for me, it'll take a lot more than promises for the nightmares to finally fade away.

The thing about getting my memory back is that there are so many things I wish I didn't have to remember. Being able to recall Steve when he was twelve or what my first date was like comes at the price of seeing all the faces I've killed, watching the death count pile up in my head. I can't pick or choose what comes back to me; it's either all or nothing.

I jiggle my right knee impatiently, staring at the clock on the wall across from me. It's 9:30, meaning that Kaila will be knocking on my door at any second. She has this thing about being late, one of the many things I've noticed over the past two months. She's a strange girl, though much more normal than I am. I know she's plagued by her alcoholism, the cause of which I still haven't asked about yet; I'm just her chauffeur, and I of all people know how difficult one's past can be to discuss.

I finally hear the knock on my door, and I immediately bolt out of seat. As much as I hate to admit it, I enjoy these outings. I enjoy her company and idle chatter, though I don't say much in return. It's just nice having some company, especially company that doesn't know I'm actually a recovering assassin with few memories to my name.

Opening the door, I take in her short stature, black curls bouncing out from under a knit hat. She gives me her usual charming albeit slightly crooked smile, though the warmth never quite reaches her dark brown eyes.

"How are you this morning?" Kaila asks, turning and leading me down the hall.

I shrug. "Alright."

She glances back over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. "Lift some iron at the gym this morning?"

I can't help but smile back. "Of course. Chest is on Saturday."

She looks forward again mumbling under her breath, "Looks like chest day is everyday."

I feel my cheeks reddening at her comment, not sure if it's meant to be a compliment or not.

When we step outside the air is cold, definitely approaching negative numbers, though I'm not bothered in the slightest. Kaila stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jacket, burrowing her neck further into her red scarf. Despite her actions, however, she's a New Yorker, used to brutal winters, and doesn't complain as we walk to my car.

I hold the door open for her, waiting until she slides in before I go around to the driver's seat. Like usual, she grips the handle in the car tightly as I pull out onto the street, one of her odd habits I've become accustomed to. I don't know if it's because she thinks I'm a bad driver or what, but I'm sure there's a story behind it that's none of my business.

After eight trips with Kaila, I've also come to expect her random topics of conversation. Today, it's her family history. If there's one thing I do know about her, it's that she can't get enough of history.

"So my last name, Liebgott, is actually Jewish," she prattles on. "My great uncle, Joseph Liebgott, was a corporal in Easy Company. You know, the famous company? The "Band of Brothers" guys? That was my great uncle. They portray him as kinda grumpy in the show, though I honestly don't even know what his personality is like, since I've never met him. I wish they hadn't casted Ross McCall to play him, though. He's like, super good-looking. And it's weird being attracted to a guy on screen that's meant to be my uncle. Ya know?"

I smirk, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. "I'm sure. Easy Company, you said? In what branch?"

She stares at me. "You've never heard of Easy Company? They were paratroopers in the 101st Airborne! Heroes from D-Day, the guys who reached Hitler's Eagle's Nest. Only the best damn company to ever fight in the American military."

Ah, D-Day. So they were after my time. Explains why I don't know about them.

"I don't know a lot about U.S. history," I reply. I barely even know my own.

"Well, you should watch Band of Brothers. It's incredible. Actually, I own it. You should come over sometime and—" She stops short, the atmosphere in the car becoming tense. Though we've spent thirty minutes together every Saturday for the last two months, we have never interacted outside of our car trips. In all honesty, I don't know if I want to. Sure, she's funny and talkative and smart, but she's also all sorts of messed up. The last thing she needs is a movie night with the Winter Soldier.

"I'm sorry," Kaila says, looking out her window. "I know me saying that was…weird."

I sigh. "It's fine. No need to apologize."

We settle back into silence, one that I know she'll soon break again. I subconsciously look forward to her next words, wondering what she'll say this time. She never disappoints.

"So, how much can you lift anyway?"

I can't help but snort. "More than you'd think."

"Yeah? Do you use steroids? Because you should know it'll mess up your sex life."

I inhale sharply and start coughing, not believing that words that came out of her mouth. "No…uh, no I don't. Thanks for the concern though."

She shrugs. "I'm just letting you know. You have big muscles, great. But if your dick doesn't work right, what's the point?"

Tears are still streaming down my face from my coughing fit, and I wipe them away with my right hand, my left still gripping the steering wheel. "I think everything's fine with…yeah, everything's fine. Thanks." Not that I've had any reason to worry about my "parts" working since 1943.

Kaila laughs at the expression on my face, but stops quickly as she notices I'm only using one hand to steer. "I don't mean to be demanding, but can you use both hands please?"

I follow her request, placing my right back on the wheel, with a muttered 'sorry.' Silence resumes, but this time I'm the one to break it, along with my promise to stay out of her business. "So. What's the deal with the car thing?"

"I'm sorry?" she replies.

"You know, your thing with cars," I glance at her. "You hate driving. I'm not blind."

I can feel the tension radiating off her body, and I mentally kick myself for bringing this up. Of all the topics I could choose to initiate, I've chosen the worst one. As far as charm goes, I've lost my touch. Wait…I used to be charming? I remind myself to revisit that memory later.

"I just don't like them." She sighs. "It's a long story, James."

I change lanes, noting the clenching of her fists in her lap. "I'll listen."

"Well, I don't feel like talking about it. And no offense, but it's barely a story I tell my closest friends, let alone you."

"Okay." So much for our casual conversation.

"Thanks for understanding."

We don't speak again until I drop her off. I promise to be back in an hour but she's already hurrying inside, and I doubt she can hear me. I sigh, putting the car in reverse, and drive back to our apartment building.

As I'm unlocking the door to my apartment, I hear my phone going off. Pulling it out of my pocket I see Sam's name on the screen, rolling my eyes. Bracing myself for whatever idiocy he has to share with me today, I hit accept. "Hey."

"Hey! Buck! A bunch of us are heading down to a range outside of the city today, see who's more accurate with weapons and stuff. You in?" He speaks enthusiastically, drawing a smile from me. I haven't shot a gun in a few months now, though I admit to myself that the simple act of shooting targets sounds appealing.

"What time? And who's 'a bunch of us'?" I reply.

"Me, Cap, Clint, Tony, probably Nat and Wanda too. The usual suspects. And we're leaving in a half hour, so if your ass isn't out of bed yet then you need to get going."

I chuckle. "If Clint's going none of us stand a chance. He never misses."

"Hey, it's all just for fun. A little team bonding, so to speak. So you in or what?"

I exhale forcefully, knowing I'll have hell to pay for my answer. "I can't. I have to pick up a friend in an hour. Sorry. But it sounds like a lot of fun. Rain check, alright?"

"Um…excuse me? Is this the same 'friend' who you've been driving around for the last two months? Don't think I don't know about that - Steve told me."

I groan. Damn Steve and his honesty. I know I shouldn't have mentioned Kaila to him, but Steve has this way of making me spill whatever's in my head. We've been best friends our entire lives; I tell him everything, especially now that we have so much catching up to do. "Yeah, that's her. Her name's Kaila. She uh, has a meeting every Saturday and doesn't have a car. I just give her a lift back and forth."

Sam scoffs. "Because there's no public transportation in New York City, right? Just text her and tell her to take a bus home."

"I would, but…I don't have her number," I reply, shaking my head. Two months of driving around together and we still don't have one another's numbers. What if an emergency did happen and I couldn't get a hold of her? I make a note of remedying that issue later.

Sam cackles. "You don't have her number yet? Come on, dude. Get on it."

"It's not…" I sigh. "It's not like that. She's just my neighbor."

"Right. A neighbor you'll ditch your best friends and guns for. But hey, it's cool. I see where we stand now."

I roll my eyes. "Get over yourself. I'll talk to you later. I hope you can't hit shit today."

"Love you too. But hey, don't forget to get her number. If you like her and want to talk to her more, make it happen. And remember, if you need me, I am literally the best wing man you could have."

I snort. "How could I forget? Say hi to the team for me. Bye." I hang up, tossing my phone onto the ratty couch in the middle of my apartment. Sinking down next to the phone I grab the remote for the tv, idly flipping through channels until something in particular catches my eye.

"Well what d'ya know," I mumble to myself, seeing 'Band of Brothers' playing on the History channel. Preparing myself to shut it off in case of any PTSD issues, I select the show, noticing it's almost halfway through Episode Three: Carentan. Huh, France. I never made it there either.

I'm immediately faced with a battle scene, flinching as I take in the explosions and a man losing his leg to a mortar. I sit uncomfortably through the first few minutes, but soon find myself relaxing, identifying with the characters on the screen. The acting is well done and believable, and my sharp eye notes that all weapons and uniforms are historically accurate as well. Kaila was onto something here.

I finish Episode 3, with Episode 4 following immediately behind. It's an all day run of it on tv or something like that apparently. I'm just as engrossed in the next episode, though I feel a twinge of homesickness for a time period I've lost. Lazily checking my phone during a commercial I jolt off the couch, shutting off the tv, realizing I have five minutes until Kaila's meeting is over. Where did the time go?

I speed to the building, driving in a reckless way I'd never dream of doing with Kaila in the car, pulling into the parking lot to see her sitting on the front steps, hunched over in her coat to avoid the cold. I reach towards my cup holder to grab her usual coffee before I realize that I forgot to pick it up in my haste. Of course. We leave off in a bad place this morning, I'm late, and now I'm showing up empty handed.

She smiles when she sees me, practically sprinting to the car and sighing in relief once she settles into the passenger seat. I note her good mood, a vast difference from the way I left her this morning.

"Good meeting today?" I ask, turning left out of the parking lot.

She nods. "Yeah, actually. I'm really starting to connect with the other's there, ya know? And today got really deep. I was able to talk about my alcoholism in a way that finally feels healthy. I don't need to be embarrassed or ashamed anymore. I just need to keep healing."

I smile at her. "Good. I'm really happy for you."

She sighs in contentment. "Thanks. Though I'm pissed at you for being late and forgetting my coffee."

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, relieved to see a teasing smirk on her face. "Aw man, you noticed that? I was hoping to slip it by you."

She laughs. "It's okay. You've done so much for me these past two months, and I genuinely hope you know how much I appreciate it. Seriously. I enjoy our time together, even though it's mostly sitting in a car." Her hand grips the handle tighter, knuckles almost white. I admire the way her voice sounds so calm, while her body language clearly indicates otherwise.

I nod. "Me too."

Tapping my right hand against the wheel nervously, I think of what Sam said. Kaila is a cool girl. She's really nice and I enjoy her company. Why not make it more than a once a week thing? We live right across the hall from each other. It wouldn't be weird for us to spend time together as friends, right?

"No, it wouldn't," Kaila responds, and I realize that I spoke the last sentence out loud.

My cheeks redden and I rub the back of my neck in embarrassment. "Sorry. That was meant to stay in my head." I glance at her amused face, finding the courage to continue. "But uh…I was thinking about your offer earlier, to watch that war show. It was on today, Episodes 3 and 4, and I really got into it. That's why I was late, actually. Think you and I could start it over from the beginning?"

Her entire face lights up, and pride fills my chest. That happiness, that look of pure joy came from me. I can't even remember the last time I made someone smile like that. It's an immensely satisfying feeling.

"Of course we can! Do you want to start it when we get home? Maybe we could grab some Moe's to go, head back to my place, and…" Kaila trails off, nervously playing with her fingers. "Sorry, I'm kinda getting ahead of myself. Whenever works for you works for me."

I grin. Her enthusiasm is contagious. "I promise you, I have nothing planned today. But first you need to tell me what Moe's is."

Her eyes grow wide. "You've never been to Moe's?! What century are you from? It's only my favorite Mexican chain. Some people are all about Chipotle, but I think Moe's has more options and their chips are free too, so…"

She continues on and I just nod, letting the sound of her voice wash over me. I'm going to spend the rest of my day eating Mexican food, watching a tv show about a war I was alive for, and spending time with a lively yet obviously broken girl. My life is starting to stabilize, and I only hope that this marks a new beginning for James Barnes, and the end of the Winter Soldier.


	3. Chapter 2: Avengers Assemble

*Bucky's POV*

"So…did you finally 'buck' up and get her number? See what I did there?"

I look up at Sam from my coffee. "You're hilarious," I respond dryly. "And yes, actually, I did."

He pats me on the shoulder as he walks by. "There you go, man. For the first time in my life you haven't disappointed me."

"You've known me for less than a year," I shoot back at him but he's already plopped on the couch next to Natasha, not listening to anything I say. Shaking my head I return back to my coffee, jumping a bit as I see Steve sitting across the counter from me.

"You got her number?"

I smile at him. "Yeah. We spent the whole day together yesterday, too."

He raises his eyebrows. "Really? Wow. Are you two…anything?"

I scoff, taking a sip of my drink. "God no. We've barely become friends. She's just really into World War II, which I am too obviously, so we spent the day watching her favorite tv show about it. That's all."

"Watching a tv show? How long were you there for?"

"Well…" I spin my mug between my hands. "There are 10 episodes and they're each an hour, so…"

"You were there for _ten_ hours?!"

I give him a look. "Keep your voice down. I don't need Sam hearing that." I look over my shoulder again at Sam, relieved to see he's absorbed in his own conversation. "But yeah, I was there until a little after 9 pm. I had to see how it ended."

Steve looks at me incredulously. "You _know_ how it ended. You were practically there."

I roll my eyes. "Not really, considering I fell out of a train before then."

A look of pain crosses Steve's face, and I immediately backpedal. "Look, she's the first friend I've made since I've moved back to New York. She's lonely, I'm lonely, and she knows a lot about American history. She's been filling in a lot of blanks for me without even meaning to. Plus…"

I scratch the back of my head, avoiding Steve's intense blue gaze. "…she makes me happy." I look up quickly, seeing Steve smiling at me. "Like, genuinely happy. I don't know. Her presence calms me down. Makes me forget the things I don't want to remember."

Steve claps me on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm happy to hear that, Bucky. You deserve to have someone special in your life."

I grimace, shrugging him off. "But that's the thing, she's not 'someone special', okay? Don't go around spreading rumors. We're just friends."

He winks at me, standing up to greet Tony as he enters the room. "Right."

I lift my hands in exasperation, knowing I won't be able to win this one. In all honesty, I don't know how I feel about Kaila, despite yesterday being one of the best days I've ever had. The Mexican food turned out to be great, the show was incredible, and I loved listening to her fun facts about the time era. She apologized a few times, worried she was annoying me, but I was drinking in every word. I don't know much about what happened after 1943, so everything she shared with me was worth millions in my eyes. She was creating a picture for me, weaving a web of the time period I missed, unintentionally helping pieces in my head click into place.

In the process, I also learned more about her. I already knew her age and that she was basically a genius, given that she received her Bachelor's from Columbia, and was back again for her PhD. What I didn't know was that she wants to become a professor, specializing in World War II (though I could have guessed that). She grew up in New York City as an only child, though her parents now live in Vermont, about a half hour south of the Canadian border. Her favorite band is Mayday Parade, her birthday is September 25th, and she's fluent in Yiddish and German due to her Jewish father. The last fact I found especially impressive, considering that few people speak Yiddish these days and I speak many languages myself. However, despite all the information she shared with me, the reason for our meeting still lingered uncomfortably in the room. She never disclosed anything about her alcoholism or the events that led up to her admittance to AA, though I don't blame her. I didn't share much about my past either.

"So!" Tony claps his hands together, jolting me out of my thoughts. I notice that the Avengers have all assembled in the main room of the Compound, entering while I was lost in my head. Wanda is curled up on the couch next to Vision, his arm draped casually across the back of the sofa. Clint and Sam sit on either side of Natasha and Rhodey lounges in a chair next to them, still getting used to his new legs. Steve remains standing, arms folded across his chest, while Banner slides into a seat at the counter next to me. I smile at him, which he weakly returns.

"Now that most of us are here, we can get started. I have recent reports that—" He's interrupted by the slamming of the front door, followed by Peter sprinting into the room, backpack flapping behind him.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Stark, I got off to a late start and Aunt May had to drive me and there was a lot of traffic and—"

"Okay, okay." Tony waves his hands, effectively shutting the kid up. "You've already interrupted me. Just…just take a seat. Yes, right there is fine. Just sit down."

Peter practically falls onto the stool to my left, nodding in hello. "Hi. I don't think we've been officially introduced. I'm Peter Parker, ya know, Spider-Man. I fought you once; that was really cool. Hey, I remember that you have a metal arm, and at some point if it's okay with you, I'd love to get a closer look at it. That kind of machinery is just—" He makes an explosion noise with his mouth, hands opening up by his temples.

I stare at him. "It's what?"

"It's like…" He makes the hand gesture and sound again. "Mind blown? You don't…you don't get that?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "No."

"A-hem." Tony glares at us. "As I was saying before Parker here ungraciously interrupted me, I've been hearing some rumors that I thought we should all pay attention to." He glances over at me. "Especially you Soldier, you'll get a kick outta this."

Tony pulls up a display seemingly out of nowhere of a man's face, round and bearded with a mole on his left cheek. "This is Dr. Harold Branch of Columbia University. PhD, smart guy, but has started to express interest in the work Hydra did post-WWII. The kind of work that was done on Bucky here."

My jaw clenches along with my fists. Of course. I can't seem to escape it.

"He's been granted money from an unknown source to begin a research project on genetically modified humans in history and the different serums used. He's already written an outstanding article on you actually, if you're interested." Tony gestures to Steve. "Thought I should let you know. I know I like reading about myself, especially when it's complimentary."

I roll my eyes.

"Anyway. I think the good guys are starting to bore Dr. Branch here, so he's moved on to bigger and better things, bringing me to you, James. You're his next project, his next focus, and I can't help but feel…anxiety over that. The last time someone expressed interest in you, they tried to make you kill all of us."

I scowl, leaning back in my seat. "So you're thinking he wants to use me as the Winter Soldier again? Because you promised me that doesn't work any—"

"Stop," Tony waves his hand. "Not everything's about you and your Mr. Hyde side."

I gape at him. Didn't he just say it was?

Tony sighs. "The serum doesn't work with you anymore. We've tested it, you're clear. No need to get jumpy. I have two main concerns right now, and believe it or not, one of them is about protecting your feelings. Either this guy's shady and we eventually need to kick his ass, or he's just a simple professor doing some research."

He stares at me intently. "If it's the latter, if this guy wants to publish a piece on you, are you ready for that? Are you ready for your face and name to be all over academic articles, telling the world what you were? What you did?"

I exhale forcefully, keeping my eyes trained on the counter. Am I? Could I deal with that sort of exposure? Having practically everyone in the country know that I spent about 70 years of my life as a mindless assassin?

I swallow thickly, annoyed by Peter's wide-eyed stare. Looking to my right I see Bruce's solemn face, softened with understanding. He knows what it's like for the world to view him as a monster.

"I um…" I clear my throat. "If he's just a man earning his living, let him. As long as there's no threat," I put my hands up. "I see no reason to make a big deal out of it."

"Are you sure?" Steve asks, concerned. "Because Buck, we could shut it all down. Easily." He looks at Tony for confirmation. "Right?"

"Oh yeah. Easily." Tony nods. "I'm letting you make the call on this one."

I shrug. "It's fine. Only intellectual types read those articles anyway." Without meaning to I think of what Kaila said, about not being ashamed about her past, about owning it in order to heal. "I need to move on from being the Winter Soldier. And if it takes this to do it, so be it. I can't be afraid of that part of me anymore."

"We're here for you, buddy." I look over my shoulder, smiling slightly at the words.

"Thanks, Clint."

"Absolutely," adds Natasha. "When S.H.I.E.L.D. went down, a lot of information I didn't want released about my past went out into the world. It's hard having people know the things I've done, but…I think in the end it's helped me come to grips with everything and start fresh. I think it'll be good for you, too."

I nod at her, turning back to Tony. "But Tony, with your parents, I—"

Tony holds up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there, just because I don't want to beat you up again. Names of victims won't be released."

I nod, feeling guilt crawl into my stomach. I know Tony still harbors anger at me for what I did to his parents. Who wouldn't? Despite all the pain however, he provided me with a car, an apartment, and the chance at a new life. I know it was all at Steve's request, but I also know that Tony didn't have to say yes. He may be an arrogant bastard, but Tony still has a heart.

"And what if this man doesn't have innocent motives?" asks Wanda, shifting slightly in her seat. "What's his plan?"

Tony shrugs. "I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I'm going to assume he's just a professor with big ideas. Nothing to get concerned about yet. If I see any red flags, we'll all meet about this again."

Sam furrows his eyebrows. "So…why'd we all meet now if this really only concerns Bucky?"

Tony stares around at us. "And I thought you'd all appreciate the chance to spend some quality time together. No, but really, I just love forcing all of you to listen to me speak. Makes me feel important. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone stands up, grumbling to themselves at Tony's theatrics. I stay in my seat, stirring the remaining drops in my coffee mug.

Steve walks over, placing at hand on my shoulder. "Are you really okay?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Sighing, I look up at him. "Not really. But what can I do?"

He frowns. "You heard what Tony said. We can make all of this stop…"

I shake my head. "No. Like I said before, I can't keep running from this."

Steve grips my shoulder tighter. "It'll all be okay. You have us now. You're not alone."

I nod at him. "I know. I hate it, but all I can think about is…" I shake my head, trailing off. "It's so stupid."

"Thinking about your neighbor?" He knows me too well.

I rub my hands over my face. "She _reads_ those articles. She _goes_ to that school. She probably _knows_ that guy. I'm going to lose the only friend I've actually made on my own. How pathetic is that?"

Steve sighs. "I don't think it's pathetic. I get it. You don't want to scare her off."

"Yeah," I stare down at my hands, metal and flesh. "I really don't."

"Hey, look. If she's as great as you say she is, I'm sure she'll get over it. She's known you for two months now, she's driven in the same car as you, you live right across the hall for Pete's sake and you haven't tried to murder her. If she's smart, she'll see you're not a threat to her."

"I guess," I reply, smiling grudgingly at him. "Thanks. For a dumbass you always know the right thing to say."

"Hey, I'm the 'Man With a Plan', right?" He chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. "But seriously, Buck." He looks me dead in the eye. "I've got your back. 'Till the end of the line, remember?"

I let out a laugh, embarrassed by the stinging I feel in the corners of my eyes. "Yeah," I answer, clasping his hand on my shoulder. "'Till the end of the line."

Steve nods. "Then we have nothing to worry about."

If only I were so easily comforted.


	4. Chapter 3: March 1st

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thanks to those who have been reading my story! It's a work in progress, but I'm pretty excited about where it's going to go. I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please, leave me reviews! It'll keep me writing and plugging through this story!

Lots of love, and enjoy this next chapter :)

-Vccle10 xoxo

*Kaila's POV*

I hit my alarm when it goes off, groaning to myself. I don't even have the energy to appreciate that my alarm went off on time because today is a Monday, and Monday's are my nightmare. I grab my phone, doing a routine scroll through Facebook, Instagram, my email account, Huffington Post, anything to prolong the minutes I get to spend under the covers. Sighing in defeat I swing my legs over the side of my bed, freezing just as I'm about to lock my screen. I stare at the date: Monday, March 1st. _March 1st_.

My stomach instantly drops and I sprint to the bathroom, just making it before I heave up all the food I ingested the night before. Resting my sweaty forehead against the side of the toilet I take deep breaths, willing myself to calm down, to regain control. I shakily run a clammy hand through my hair, continuing to fight for steady breathing. It eventually comes, but not before I'm hit with a wave of dread. Today is going to be a battle, and I'm going to have to put up a hell of a fight.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I twist my hands in my lap during my last lecture of the day, pulling at my fingers, rubbing my palms together, running my thumbs over my wrists. Despite being seated I'm in constant motion, hands moving continuously, never stilling for a second. I'm counting down the minutes until I'm done with class so I can go home and…do what? Wallow in my misery? I swallow forcefully. Maybe this class should last forever. At least it partly takes my mind off of things.

"Hey," a familiar voice whispers to my right. I turn my head, seeing my best friend Lora frowning at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

I shake my head, opening my phone and pointing at the date.

Her green eyes soften. "We're going to get frozen yogurt after this, okay?"

I nod, starting to feel tears gathering in my eyes. "I threw up this morning," I whisper pathetically, voice breaking.

"Shh. It's going to be okay," she whispers, gently rubbing my back before returning to her notes. I nod again, force away my tears, and devote the last ten minutes of the class to listening intently to what Dr. Branch is saying. I may as well get something productive out of today.

Once our lecture is dismissed, Lora takes my hand in her own, the two of us walking outside together. We move in silence, Lora presumably waiting for me to break it. She doesn't push, already knowing the cause of my distress, leaving us to sit in our individual thoughts until we arrive at the frozen yogurt shop. I pile mine with everything chocolate while she opts for the candy toppings, though we both fill our cups to the brim. If nothing else, we love our fro-yo.

"So," Lora starts, as we sit at a colorful table outside of the shop. "I know you probably don't have a lot to say, and since I already know what's going on I won't pressure you. But I'm here to listen if you want to talk."

I nod, crunching on a chocolate pretzel. "I know. You're sweet like that."

She holds up her orange spoon, gesturing to the Swedish fish mixed in with her yogurt. "Aye, sweet. I get it. Tasteful joke."

I force a laugh. "And there you go throwing in a taste reference. We're on a roll today."

Lora shrugs. "What can I say? Our humor is never frozen."

I shake my head, stirring my spoon in my bowl. "Now that one was just lame."

She snorts. "I know."

I stare intently at an Oreo in my bowl, pressing down on it with my spoon, watching it crumble into black dust. "Everything falls apart so easily, ya know?"

"I know," she repeats.

"Like," I run my hands over my face in frustration. "How could I go from being the happiest I've ever been in my life to everything falling to shit? Like seriously? Do I not deserve to live a happy life?"

Lora tilts her head, frowning at me. "You know that's not true."

"Well," I pick my spoon up again, forcefully shoving bits of the broken Oreo in my mouth. "That's what it fucking feels like."

She sighs. "I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but this is only the one year 'anniversary' if you will, of…everything. It's not always going to feel like this."

I gaze at her, biting my lip to keep it from wobbling. "But what if it does?"

Lora stretches out her hands, allowing me to grab them and run my fingers and palms over hers. We sit in silence for a moment, Lora just letting me play with her hands.

Cars roar by on the street next to us, wind rustles though my hair, and I close my eyes. Though it's already March 1st the air remains cold, and I know it won't be warming up for a while still; it doesn't bother me, as I actually love winter weather. It brings me peace of mind, unlike the sweltering summers that will be following too soon. There's too much in this world that causes me stress, and simple things like loving the weather are part of what makes life bearable. With all the noise and bustle and movement around me, I don't give myself enough moments to appreciate life in itself. It's truly a gift, one that can easily be snatched away. Today of all days reminds me of that.

Lora smiles softly at our joined hands, squeezing mine gently. "You've always done this."

I nod, opening my eyes to stare intently at my fingers and hers. "I know. Messing with people's hands chills me out. Always has. I know it's kinda weird though."

She shrugs. "It doesn't bother me. It's essentially like getting a free hand massage."

I laugh, arching an eyebrow. "Hopefully Robyn doesn't come by and get jealous."

Lora scoffs at me. "Are you kidding? She loves you! Plus," she smiles playfully. "She knows you're not my type."

I pull my hands away, letting out a sound of mock indignation. "What makes you say that?"

"Hm…" Lora pretends to think, tapping her chin with her finger. "Maybe it's that…you like men?"

I giggle, rolling my eyes. "Oh yeah. _That_."

She shakes her head at me. "I'll never understand it. Guys are gross. And women in relationships with other women often report more satisfying sex lives."

I sigh. "I have heard that. Though…" I rest my chin on my clasped hands. "My carpool guy is pretty damn hot; I'm sure he's satisfied _plenty_ of women."

"Ohhhh, the chest day guy. So he really is sexy, huh?"

I nod. "I think even you'd like him. Plus he's super nice. Kinda mysterious though, a little reserved, but yeah. He's uh…quite the dude."

Lora raises her eyebrows at me suggestively. "Maybe you guys will…"

I scoff. "I'm probably not _his_ type either. I was a virgin until twenty-one, remember? While you were igniting girls' hearts all over Columbia with your whole red-hair, green-eyes thing, I was sitting in my dorm room alone." _Drinking._

"Well, until Jamie," she replies casually, taking another bite of her yogurt. Immediately following her words she slaps a hand over her mouth. "I am so sorry," she says, not even bothering to swallow first.

My heart sinks again and our playful banter disappears instantly. "It's okay," I force a smile at her. "You had my mind off of it for five minutes. That's a record for today."

Lora's shoulders slump. "I'm still sorry though. That was…that was dumb."

I wave her off. "Stop, it's not your fault. You're allowed to say his name. It's just…hard to hear right now." I finish my words quickly, seeing that she's about to apologize again. "But that's a me thing, not a you thing."

She squeezes my left hand and we finish up our yogurt, my mind screaming.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

"Are you sure you don't want me to come back and stay with you tonight after my lecture?" Lora asks, parking in front of my building.

I frown at her. "What time will the lecture end?"

She shrugs. "It starts at 9:00 pm, lasts an hour. I can be hear by 10:30, easy."

I glare at her. "And let you drive in the dark? Do you know me at all?"

Lora looks at me pointedly. "Yes, I do know you. Quite well, actually. Well enough to know that tonight's not a good night to be alone."

I roll my eyes. "I'll be fine. I've made it all day without a mental breakdown, I can last through tonight." She stares at me skeptically, unconvinced.

Besides," I continue, leaning in to give her a hug. "I can't lose you too."

She grips me tightly. "What if I promised to drive safely and make it back in one piece?"

I pull away abruptly, my face stern. "Please don't make promises you can't guarantee. Please."

Lora nods at me, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just really love you. You know that, right?"

I nod, wiping her tears with my thumbs. "I know. And I love you too. A stupid amount, which is why there is no way in hell you're driving back here tonight."

She nods her head in defeat. "I didn't think you'd let me, but it was worth a shot. Take care of yourself tonight, okay?"

I get out of the car, smiling back at her. "I promise."

I should know better than to make promises I can't guarantee, even if I mean it at the time.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I sigh in contentment as my head hits the pillow, settling further into my bed. After Lora dropped me off, I spent the rest of my evening cooking a healthy meal, finishing up an essay, and watching a few episodes of Downton Abbey. My mind is at ease, I'm feeling level-headed, and I know sleep isn't far behind. Unfortunately, my bladder has other plans.

I walk to the bathroom grumbling, only to see that there's no toilet paper on the stand. _Fantastic_. Letting out a few more expletives and just wishing for bed, I shuffle to the closet in my hallway where I keep random crap like toilet paper, paper towels, soap, and other necessary items for life.

I reach up to the top shelf on my tip-toes, eventually getting a handhold on the toilet paper package and tugging it down. It lands with a plastic thunk on the floor, followed by a shoebox. The shoebox tips over and opens due to the impact, causing my mind to go numb. Sleep leaves my brain. I can't think. I can't breathe. I know immediately that I am well and truly fucked.

Photographs fan across my floor, all containing the same person. He stares up at me with messy blonde hair and black framed glasses, hazel eyes sparkling even in photos. A dimple pops out at the corner of his right cheek, a small birth mark traces the left side of his neck. He's kissing my lips, he's holding my hand, he's feeding me ice cream. He's alive. He's breathing. He's _there_.

I fall to my knees, unable to support myself any longer, clutching at different photos in my hands, holding them against my chest, trying to force him back into my arms. Images fly through my mind of dark roads, gleaming headlights, and screeching tires. I feel an impact, the pressure of an airbag against my chest, the slice of glass on my cheek. I hear him, his grunt of pain, followed by a windshield shattering.

Tears course down my cheeks and I tear at my hair, curled into the wall by the closet. I sob hysterically, clawing at my face, arms, chest, desperately trying to fight the pain away. My chest aches and my head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, threatening to trap me on the floor forever. I don't know how long I sit there, surrounded by my happiest moments, before I'm aware of something against my thigh.

Tears slowing, I reach my left hand down to pick up the small, black, velvet box. My hands are shaking and my throat tightens again, but I open the box anyway. I'm so far gone by this point that I don't consider the consequences. Staring at the diamond inside, reflecting slightly in the hallway light, I officially topple over the edge.

I snap the box shut, standing on unstable legs. Breathing heavily I suddenly scream, throwing the box as hard as I can against the wall. It bounces off harmlessly, remaining closed, stopping innocently in the middle of my kitchen. That's it. This feeling needs to end. And lucky for me, I know just the trick.

Not caring that I'm in my pajamas I grab a fleece and boots from the closet, taking my apartment keys from the bowl by the door. I pound down the stairs without worrying about waking up every single person on every single floor. Let them be annoyed. It pales in comparison to the agony I'm in. Once I'm outside I take a left, thankful for the Irish Pub three buildings down. My parents expressed concern at me being so close to a bar when I moved here, but I brushed them away, knowing I could control myself. I guess they were right to be worried.

I stalk into the bar, taking a detour to the restroom, before plopping myself at the counter. The bartender glances at me, smiling, until he sees the look on my face. I slap a $50 bill on the table, staring him dead in the eye. "I need shots of tequila, as many as this will buy me."

"You want seven?" He sizes up my short stature incredulously.

I nod, knowing from experience that seven will be more than enough to get me drunk. "Yes please."

He fills one, placing it on the bar in front of me. I instantly shoot it down, gasping at the burn in my throat. I have gone almost three months without alcohol, and I relish the tingling feeling returning. I nod at him, ready for the next, and the next, and the next.

With each shot my head drifts further and further away, taking me to a place where all that matters are the glasses in front of me and nothing else. I forget the date, my pain, the photos still scattered in my hallway. I forget everything but the feeling of alcohol returning to my system once again.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I stagger up the stairs to my apartment building an hour later, barely making out that I've finally reached the correct floor. Tripping on the final step I fall to my knees, head pounding. Everything's spinning and tears sting my eyes. I let them fall, not having any restraint left to hold them back. I'm a pathetic, blubbering mess, and the whole hallway can probably hear my broken sobs.

I stay there on my hands and knees in the middle of the hallway, knowing that if I turn left I'll be at my door. Despite being so close, questions race through my mind. How am I supposed to stand and unlock my door? And if I somehow accomplish that, how will I get myself all the way to bed? I've made it this far, but panic hits me. What if I puke while I'm sleeping and suffocate? What if I hit my head and never wake up again? I may be depressed, but frantic self-preservation kicks in.

Panting heavily, I raise my eyes to the door in front of me, seeing a blurry 7C high above my head. Crying more softly now, I lift my fist weakly over the door, praying that he answers. I hate it, but I need help.

So I knock.


	5. Chapter 4: Midnight Comfort

*Bucky's POV*

There are some nights where I can't sleep, whether it be from nightmares, restlessness, or general discomfort. When this happens I sit in front of the tv, search for a movie, and wait until I drift off on the couch. Tonight just turns out to be one of those nights, and unexplainable restlessness is to blame.

I lounge shirtless across the sofa, hands behind my head, feet propped up on the opposite end. _Saving Private Ryan_ plays before my eyes, another recommendation from Kaila for a World War II film. She said it's a classic and won a bunch of awards, an accomplishment I found easy to believe within the first twenty minutes. Despite the unfortunate circumstances following my fall, I thank God that I didn't have to participate in D-Day; the opening sequence of this film is brutal enough, and it's certainly not even half as bad as the real thing.

I watch the violence play out on screen, wincing slightly at the screams and gore. It's scary how realistic Hollywood can make this kind of thing look nowadays, right down to the explosions, blood, and sounds of crying. _Wait_ …I bolt up in my seat, entire body tense and alert. Pausing the movie I listen intently for the sobbing I swear I heard from the hallway. Sure enough, there it is. Faint, but definitely there. I grab a sweatshirt from my hall closet, inching towards the door while I pull the fabric over my head. The crying continues, getting louder as I approach, until it falters.

 _Knock_ , _knock_ , _knock_.

My heart leaps to my throat and I peek through the peephole, unsure of what to expect. What I find breaks my heart.

"Oh my god," I mutter, wrenching the door open.

Kaila waits there on her hands and knees, tears running silently down her face, right fist hovering over the now open doorway. I crouch down so I'm eye-level with her, noticing her red and blotchy eyes. She reeks of alcohol, her clothes are covered in dried vomit, and she's shaking uncontrollably.

"Can you stand?" I ask softly, knowing it's a stupid question, but worried that reaching out will frighten her.

She shakes her head.

"Okay," I run a hand through my hair. "Is it okay if I pick you up?"

She nods weakly.

"Alright then," I reply. I lay an arm across her back and under her thighs, easily scooping her up bridal style. Shutting the door with my foot I carry her into my apartment, setting her carefully on the couch.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I ask, squatting down in front of her. Her head lolls back and forth and I stop it, holding her face gently between my palms. "Kaila. Can you understand me?"

Kaila nods slightly, making multiple attempts at words before she finally speaks. "I…I made a mistake." Her bloodshot brown eyes meet mine. "I drank too much. It hurts too much."

Panic passes through me and I continue to keep her face trained on mine. "Kaila, I need to know if anyone touched you or hurt you."

She shakes her head, still framed by my hands. "No. Just me. I promised I would take care of myself, but I've fucked it all up." Her words are starting to slur now, becoming harder to understand. She slumps forward from the effort of those simple sentences, leaning completely against my shoulder.

I wrap my arms around her back as she begins sobbing again, her entire body shaking in my embrace. I rub her back soothingly with my left hand, my right moving up to smooth her hair. "It's okay," I murmur. "It's alright. I'm going to get you cleaned up, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

I maneuver the two of us into the bathroom, switching the light on, thankful for once that it's so dimly lit. I turn on the shower while still holding her to my chest, waiting for the water to warm up. I glance down at her face, her eyes partly closed, debating over how to do this. There is no way in hell I'm going to undress her in this state, but I also don't want her to stay in wet clothes. Fuck it, I'll just wash her off in them. She can change into some of mine afterwards.

I place her in the tub, keeping the curtain open and detaching the shower head so I can rinse her off. Flecks of vomit are mixed into her dark curls and crusted around her mouth, and I meticulously wash off every bit from her skin and hair. As I work I force down my nausea, breathing through my mouth to avoid the stinging smell. Kaila remains still while I care for her, eyes dazed but trained on my face. "Thank you, James," she murmurs. "I knew you could help me." I touch her cheek briefly in response, my thumb running over her skin. I'm glad she knows it's me.

Once she's clean I pick her up again, ignoring the wetness now soaking through my shirt. Setting her on the worn armchair in the corner of my bedroom, I make sure she's securely propped up before I turn to rummage through my drawers. I pull out a short sleeve navy t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both of which will be too big for her but should be comfortable to sleep in. While I'm at it I grab a long sleeve for myself, throwing my now damp sweatshirt over my head and replacing it with the dry shirt. It's dark in my room, the only light coming from the moon through the window. I wonder if she peeked at me without my shirt on and what her thoughts were, but then mentally slap myself. She's half passed out and I'm worried about her opinion of my body? What's wrong with me?

"Alright Kaila," I whisper, holding the new clothes in my arms. "I need you to help me, okay? I need to get you in dry clothes."

She nods slowly, eyes fluttering. She raises her arms above her head, presumably waiting for me to pull her shirt off.

I swallow hard. "Any chance you can do this yourself?"

Kaila remains sitting there, arms awkwardly raised, unmoving.

I exhale sharply, wishing for the first time that I were a woman instead of a man. Everything in this situation would be a million times easier, but I have no choice. Either I help her get changed or she sleeps all night in wet clothes. The latter is not an option.

I move around the chair so her back is to me, more comfortable with the view I'll have from here. I quickly pull her shirt over her head, relieved to see she's already braless; if I had to take her damp bra off too, things would reach a whole new level of personal.

I'm given a brief glimpse of her pale smooth back and the couple birthmarks on her left shoulder before I carefully place her arms and head through my t-shirt. I walk back around to her front, kneeling so I can grab the hem of her pajama pants, thankful that my shirt covers her to mid-thigh. Getting my sweatpants on her is a slightly more difficult task, and I awkwardly lift her with my metal arm while dressing her with my right.

Once she's clothed I grab a towel, circling behind her again to dry her hair. I try to be gentle, not wanting to yank her hair, while still getting as much water out as possible. In the process I notice a small "J" tattooed behind her left ear. I tuck that information away, reminding myself to ask about it another time.

Once I'm satisfied that she's completely dry I move her to my bed, pulling back the covers and laying her down on her right side in case she gets sick. She immediately snuggles into my pillows, clutching the blankets in her hands; it's an innocent sight, despite the rough night she's had. I set a garbage can against the side of the bed where her head is, also grabbing a blanket and pillows to put together a makeshift bed on the floor closest for me. If she wakes up, if she throws up, if she starts crying, I want to hear it. I don't want her to wake up alone in an unfamiliar bed because I'm giving her privacy and staying on the couch. It's not an option; I refuse to let her be by herself, confused and dazed in the dark. I know what that feels like, and I will never do that to her.

I settle down on the floor with a sigh, gazing up at her resting face. Admiring the way the moonlight reflects against her light skin, I notice how thick and dark her eyelashes are and the fullness of her lips. A thin scar marks the top of her left cheekbone, along with another on her chin. Kaila's not the type of girl I'd be attracted to on sight; I'd say she's cute maybe, but wouldn't take a second glance. Seeing her now, peaceful in sleep, I drink in the sight of her. She's flawed on the outside and inside, but that's part of what draws me in. Her front teeth are slightly crooked and her ears stick out a bit, but I suddenly find her beautiful. Maybe some of that beauty comes from knowing this girl has seen pain; as someone accustomed to it, I recognize the signs. She's struggled and yet she's remained strong, able to stand alone, but not afraid to ask for help when she needs it. I don't know what drove her to drink tonight after three months of sobriety, but I promise myself that I won't ask. My job is to look after her, to protect her, something I didn't realize I wanted to do until now. Somehow, someway, this girl is crawling into my heart, thawing ice I had placed there long ago.

I hardly sleep that night, watching over her perfectly imperfect form.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

Sunlight streams through my bedroom window and I groan, realizing I forgot to close my shades the night before. Kaila still lays in my bed, cheek pressed into my pillow, hair covering the majority of her face. Stretching my arms above my head I get up, cracking my back while I'm at it. I used to sleep on floors without blinking an eye, but I've since become accustomed to a comfortable bed. I guess I'm growing soft.

I putter around my apartment for a few hours, placing water and Advil on the bedside table for when Kaila wakes up, watching the morning news, making myself a smoothie, and writing more memories in my notebooks. They're coming back stronger each day, both good and bad; whatever the type, I write it down. I need to face all of it.

Leaning back on the couch I stare at the paper, brows furrowed. I remember attending an expo with Steve, dragging him along on a double date. Two beautiful women flock around me while Steve stands off to the side awkwardly. I shake my head, laughing at the thought. So much has changed since then; now I'm the loner.

"Good morning."

My head jerks up and I see Kaila standing in the doorway to my bedroom, hair a mess and eyes still blotchy. She raises her water glass to me slightly. "Thanks for the medicine." She looks down at herself. "And the clothes."

"No problem."

"When you undressed me did you…was I like…"

I clear my throat. "I kept your back to me. And it was dark. I didn't um…I made sure to keep you covered. I promise I didn't see anything."

She gives me a tight smile. "I believe you. Thanks."

Kaila continues to stand there, eyes fixed on me. I gaze back, waiting for her to make the next move. I know she's probably embarrassed and she's definitely uncomfortable, but I don't say a word. I want her to break the silence, like she always does.

Kaila exhales heavily, running a hand through her mass of curls. "My head…"

I grimace. "Yeah, I can imagine."

Biting her lip she walks over to me, plopping down on the couch by my feet. I move to swing my legs off the couch to give her more room, but she grabs my ankles, placing my feet in her lap. I freeze, not sure of how to respond. She mindlessly rubs her fingers back and forth across the bare skin of my ankles, staring ahead in front of her. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from her touch.

Kaila leans back against the couch, head turned to face me. "First, I have to apologize."

I open my mouth to speak, but she shakes her head. "No, I need to. What I did last night was reckless and unacceptable. I am beyond sorry for dragging you into my shit show."

"I'm glad you did," I reply, staring steadily into her eyes. "I was happy to help."

She nods, still absentmindedly stroking my skin. "The second thing I need to do is thank you. You…you really helped me out."

I nod. "You already thanked me last night. But you're welcome."

Our gazes remain on one another, warm brown and icy blue. Kaila's the first to break away, seemingly just noticing her fingers tracing beneath the hem of my sweatpants. She snatches away her hands as if I've burned her, holding them awkwardly against her chest. "I'm sorry. I have this bad habit of like, touching others when I'm stressed. It makes a lot of people uncomfortable."

"No, it felt good," I hear myself say, my face immediately growing warm. "I mean…it doesn't bother me. I wasn't uncomfortable."

She laughs a little, setting her hands back on my ankles. My heart leaps at the renewed contact. "Thanks."

We sit in silence, the sound of cars racing past and birds chirping echoing through the open window. I remain in my stretched out position against the arm of the couch, skin tingling where her fingers trace. Her hands are soft and small, gentle against my rough body.

I clear my throat. "Do you want breakfast?"

Kaila nods. "Yeah, actually. Breakfast sounds really, really good."

I get up from my seat, disappointed that doing so forces her to let go of me. "I have cereal, eggs, toast…what can I get for you?"

She shrugs, standing alongside me. "Whatever's easiest for you."

I take down Honey Nut Cheerios from the cabinet, holding them up in question. She nods and I pour her a bowl, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Take a seat," I say as she moves to help me. "I got it."

She does as I say, eyes following me around the kitchen. Usually I'm uncomfortable with other's stares, but not hers. It doesn't feel judgmental or fearful, just curious. She's assessing me, but not in a way I find threatening.

I grab a significantly larger bowl for myself, sitting at the table across from her. We eat in silence, the only sounds in the room coming from our chewing and the clink of spoons against glass. We look up at one another every so often, both of our faces reddening when we make eye contact. This is ridiculous. I feel like I'm fifteen years old again.

"I have a lot to explain," Kaila finally says. I can always rely on her to start conversation.

I glance at her, frowning. "You don't have to explain anything. It's your business, not mine."

She chews the inside of her cheek. "But I knocked on your door two months ago for a ride to AA meetings, effectively involving you in my business. Now I've knocked drunk at midnight, bringing you in again. You deserve to have answers, and I know you've been wanting to ask me for a while. Now you can."

I stop chewing, swallowing my bite of cereal. Gazing at her thoughtfully I place my spoon in the bowl, scratching my jaw. "How did you…" I hesitate, unsure of how to phrase my question without sounding insensitive.

Kaila raises her eyebrows at me. "I won't be offended. Go on."

I sigh. "How did you start drinking like…like this?"

She nods. "I knew that was your question. I just can't believe you didn't ask me two months ago."

I shrug. "I wanted to respect your privacy."

Kaila smiles wryly. "Well, I appreciate that. But um…wow, how did I start drinking? Um…" She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. She doesn't look angry or upset, just thoughtful. As if she herself is trying to piece together the puzzle.

"The thing about alcoholism is that it's really hard to pick a starting point, and impossible to find the end. Someone isn't just an alcoholic on and off, it's something that you're stuck with for the rest of your life. I could be sober for fifty plus years and I will still be an alcoholic. It sucks, but that's the truth.

"I experimented with drinking in high school, as a lot of people do, and I found it was something that calmed me down. I've always been neurotic, constantly over-thinking every tiny detail of my life. Alcohol was something I could turn to, a crutch I could lean on. I felt steady when I drank, in control, and eventually it became something I didn't just want, but needed."

She shakes her head. "It got really bad in college, to the point that I couldn't go more than a couple hours without a drink. I'd be drinking until I went to bed, then would start right back up again the next day. It was a never-ending cycle. Of course, I had a couple stints in rehab, would get sober, drink again, get sober, drink again, over and over. My poor parents had no idea how to help me. It wasn't like I was depressed or unhappy, even. I just made alcohol a necessity in my life."

Kaila pauses, eyes shining slightly. "Around my junior year of college I formed some really important relationships, relationships that encouraged me to take care of myself. I was able to get sober for a substantial amount of time, almost three years actually, until March 1st of last year."

Her voice starts to shake and I instinctively reach across the table with my right hand, grabbing hers. I obviously made the right decision, as both her hands immediately begin fiddling with my fingers.

"I was in a really bad car accident." A tear slips down her cheek. "And um…I lost someone really important to me that day. It was nobody's fault." She wipes the tear away, only for it to be followed by another. "That's how I got these," she says, pointing at the scars on her cheek and chin. "And why I'm such a freak when I ride in the car."

I grip her hand a little tighter, her words confirming my thoughts on why she's afraid of driving. I wonder about the important person she lost, thinking back to the "J" behind her ear. I listen attentively, eager to hear more about the mystery person, but to my disappointment she brushes past the mention of them and continues to tell her story.

"After the accident I fell off the deep end. I drank to get drunk, which was new for me. Before, I just drank to feel that continuous buzz and it wasn't my intent to black out or forget real life or whatever. But this time around, all I wanted to do was numb every single feeling in my body. There was just…just a lot for me to process."

She scoffs, mind lost in another time. "I gained a lot of weight, almost twenty pounds in a year. I lost my job, had to move in with my parents. It was hell. Until one day, somehow, I got out of it." She shrugs. "I woke up one morning in the middle of my parent's kitchen covered in alcohol and vomit, and I knew I needed a change. I applied back to Columbia, reformed connections I had lost, got this apartment, a paid internship, and signed up for Alcoholics Anonymous. And three months later, here we are."

Kaila exhales. "But of course, last night happened. I didn't think the date would mess me up so much, but it did. And now I've set back all the progress I've made."

I shake my head. "No. No you haven't. You've helped yourself once, you can do it again. Don't let last night take away your confidence."

She nods slightly, still playing with my right hand. "I know. It's just hard, you know? There's so much I want to forget, but in order to heal I have to remember it."

I almost laugh. We're more similar than she realizes. "I can relate."

We settle into a comfortable silence. I gently squeeze her hand. "I think you're really brave. For how much you've fought, and for telling me all this."

She chuckles, looking away with embarrassment. "I don't know about brave."

"You are," I insist. "Seriously. You're something special."

"Oh god," she responds, going red. "Now you're making stuff up."

"I'm not," I say, catching her eyes with my own. "I promise."

Kaila holds my gaze, finally nodding. "Okay. Thanks for listening, and just for everything in general. You're a really great friend, James. Hopefully I can do the same for you sometime."

The corner of my mouth lifts slightly and I nod. "I'm sure you can."


	6. Chapter 5: Cop Outs

*Kaila's POV*

"So…you essentially lied to him."

"What?"

"Yeah. That's what I took away from that story."

Lora and I are lounging on my bed, her having come over to clean up the mess I'd left in the hallway; I didn't have the mental strength to put away the ring and pictures myself and she was more than happy to help. Of course, I also had to give her the entire rundown of what transpired in the last 24 hours, patiently sitting through her lecture afterwards of how I should've called her and that she never should have left me alone. I nodded through it all, agreeing, yet guiltily getting butterflies at the thought of being in James' arms, feeling his hands on my face, hearing his soft, soothing voice…Who knew a guy his size could be so gentle?

Naturally, she wanted to hear about that part too. Once we got over the seriousness of my situation we were able to launch into some lighthearted girl-talk, appreciating James' superhero moment. He took amazing care of me last night and this morning, and I can't pretend that it hasn't left an impression on me. What I'm not grasping though, is how I lied to him.

I furrow my eyebrows. "What did I lie about? I told him about the accident and everything."

Lora waves her hand dismissively. "Okay, so maybe 'lied' is the wrong word. But you definitely omitted a massive truth. You made it sound like the car accident was the reason for your relapse."

I tilt my head. "Was it not?"

She sighs. "You know I'm sympathetic to everything that happened and I will always be by your side through everything. But we need to do some real talk, okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

"Answer me honestly," Lora says, holding my gaze. "Do you think you would have started drinking like that again if Jamie had survived the accident?"

I chew on my lip, knowing the answer and suddenly understanding her point. "No."

"Right," Lora replies. "I know you're traumatized by the car accident; who wouldn't be? So I'm definitely not minimizing the effect it's had on you. But sometimes…sometimes I feel like you use the crash as a cop out, a way to not fully deal with your grief over Jamie."

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. "Huh."

I think back to all my breakdowns after the accident, to my therapy sessions and AA meetings. They all revolved around becoming comfortable in the car again, working on making an everyday activity easy again. I always mentioned Jamie briefly, sure, but always in the context that I had lost someone in the crash, further heightening my fear of cars. I never talked about my life with him before the accident itself, just focusing on the one event. Looking back on it from that perspective, I realize I did the same thing when talking to James this morning.

"I guess it's easier." I shrug. "Easier to say 'hey, the accident was scary and now I'm drinking again' than 'I lost the love of my life and therefore my will to live.'"

I lean back against my headboard. "You know I still can't say his name?"

Lora smiles gently. "You don't need to yet. It'll come with time. No one's rushing you."

"Ugh," I run my hands over my face. "Seeing those pictures of him last night…I haven't seen his face in a year. I forgot how handsome he is. Was. Whatever."

"He was a cutie," Lora smiles thoughtfully. "And you two were an amazing couple. A couple that did a lot of really cool things, too." She glances at me. "There are some great memories there that I hope you can revisit some day. I think it'd be healthy for you to talk about him."

I lift my hands, letting them fall back heavily into my lap. "I don't know if I can."

"Well," Lora lifts her right shoulder. "When you're ready, I'm looking forward to it."

I nod. "We'll see."

We sit in silence on opposite ends of my bed. I watch the sun starting to set through my bedroom window, finding it hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago I was knocking on James' door. So much happened within the span of one night, my body definitely feeling the fatigue take over. As my room continues to darken I switch on the lamp by my bed, illuminating the painted blue walls in a warm glow. I settle more comfortably against the pillows on my bed, still thinking over what Lora said.

"Do you think it's important that I tell James about him?"

Lora scrunches her eyebrows, mulling over my question. "I think so. But only because it seems to me that you and James are heading in a non-platonic direction."

I snort. "What? No."

She gapes at me. "Are you kidding? This guy has a) been giving up every Saturday to drive you around and b) stayed up all night taking care of you when you were drunk. He gave you some of his clothes and you're telling me he has no feelings for you whatsoever? By the way, did you keep the clothes?"

I shrug, blushing slightly. "I offered to wash them and bring them back, but he said I could keep them. He's a really nice guy."

"Yeah, I'm sure he is. But I think he's _exceptionally_ nice to you."

"I don't think he has feelings for me."

Lora groans. "And why is that?"

"I don't know!" I wave my hands around, trying to find the right words. "Because I'm…random and weird. And we don't have anything in common."

"You spent ten hours watching a tv show on World War II."

"Yeah, but…" I trail off. "He's so…manly and muscular and ruggedly handsome. His life seems so put together. I don't know how to explain it. He's just not the type of guy to end up with a girl like me."

Lora crosses her arms across her chest, arching an eyebrow. "Because…?"

I frown at her, gesturing to my body. "Hello! Case in point."

"Oh my god," Lora falls backwards dramatically onto my bed, spread eagle across the mattress. "Please not this again."

"What!? I'm disproportionate! You know it's true."

She glares up at the ceiling, repeating words I've heard a million times. "You're pear-shaped, which is a literal term for a woman's body shape. There's nothing disproportionate about you. Magazines recommend outfits specifically with your body type in mind. You're not an anomaly."

"I'm a B-cup with size 10 pants. My hips are massive compared to the rest of the body. Oh, like this morning," I stand on my bed so I can look down at Lora, bouncing up and down slightly. "His t-shirt was huge on me, but guess what fit? Oh right, his pants. You know why? Because of my big fat ass."

She rolls her eyes at me. "You are not fat. Plus you've lost like, ten pounds from what you gained."

"Yeah, but that's still ten pounds heavier than when I was dating you-know-who." I sit back down forcefully, making Lora bounce slightly on her back. "And now I have stretch marks."

"Most people have stretch marks."

I cross my arms, grumbling. "I bet James doesn't."

"You won't know until you get him naked."

We stop for a second, then burst out laughing at our ridiculous conversation. We always do this; serious to lighthearted to arguing and back again. It's what makes our relationship so fun.

"Seriously though," Lora says, still laughing slightly. "You're beautiful just the way you are, and I'm sure James cares about more than what your body looks like. I truly think something is going to grow between you two, despite what you think. But Kaila, if it does, Jamie's going to have to come up. You owe James that much. It's not fair to keep a fiancée from a guy trying to win your heart."

I flop forward on my stomach so I'm laying next to her, resting my cheek on my arms. "I know. You're right. I just don't know if I can love anybody else. It makes me feel like I'm cheating or something."

Lora twirls a strand of my hair around her finger. "Who said anything about loving him? I know you're interested, and you're obviously attracted to him. Just take it slow, test the waters. See what happens. Considering romance with James doesn't make you a bad person; it makes you human."

Thinking about anything romantic hasn't been high on my to-do list, particularly where James is concerned, but I suddenly find that I'm not opposed to the idea. Maybe a few dates and a kiss could lead to something serious. Maybe we just hook up. Maybe we remain friends. Whatever the case, I feel in my gut that _something's_ about to happen between us, and I'm aware enough to know that the turning in my stomach isn't from nerves, but from excitement at the possibility.

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"Thanks again for coming over," I say to Lora, walking her through my kitchen. "And please, please, please drive carefully tonight. Text me when you get home."

She smiles at me. "I will. And you better be in class tomorrow. No more of this lecture skipping business like today."

I roll my eyes, opening my door for her. "Yes, Mom."

She blows me a kiss, walking out the door and nearly running into James, who's just coming up the stairs. He catches her arms in his hands to stop her, preventing the collision.

He's wearing a fitted Adidas pull-over, gym shorts, and sneakers, obviously just returning from a hard workout. His face and hair are still slightly sweaty, but his blue eyes are livelier than I've ever seen them. I guess he's in a good mood.

"Sorry about that," he says, letting her go. Running a hand through his sweaty hair he grins at me. I'm taken aback by his unusual display of enthusiasm. "How are you feeling, Kaila?"

I exchange a quick glance with Lora, her eyes wide, before I smile up at James. "A lot better, thanks. My headache is pretty much gone."

James nods. "Good. I'm glad to hear that."

The three of us stand in the cramped hallway awkwardly, Lora staring at James' firm physique in his tight top, while James and I shoot glances at one another. I clear my throat, knowing it's my job to break the silence.

"James, this is my best friend, Lora. Lora, this is my neighbor, James. I'm glad you guys can finally meet each other."

Lora reaches out a hand to shake James', smiling up at him charmingly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot of really great things about you."

James looks at me, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

I shrug. "I guess I've mentioned you a few times."

"I appreciate you keeping an eye on Kaila these past few months. And for last night, of course. It's nice to know she has such a good friend around."

"It's my pleasure." My stomach flips over at his response.

Lora gives me a sidelong look, pulling her purse more securely on her shoulder. "Well, I got to get outta here. Have a girl waiting for me at home. See you guys around, nice to meet you again."

"You too," James smiles at her, turning back to me once she's down the stairs. "She seems really great."

I nod, looking fondly after her. "She really is." Turning back to him I look him up and down. "So what's with you? You seem exceptionally chipper this evening."

James shrugs. "I just went to the gym with some of my buddies, grabbed a few bee—I mean, ate some dinner afterwards."

I roll my eyes at him. "You're allowed to say 'beer' in front of me. I won't fall apart."

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right, sorry. Well, I'm really glad to see that you're feeling better."

"All thanks to your wonderful care," I respond. He smiles and turns back to his door, fishing his keys out of his pocket. "Hey, James."

He looks over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to go on a date?"

His eyes widen. "What?"

"I mean…" I trip over my words, panic going through me. He looks horrified that I asked. Oh my god. I'm such an idiot. Save this, Kaila. Save this disaster. "Like, a double-date. I could find someone for you and vice versa. I think it'd be fun."

"Oh." I can't tell if he's relieved or not. "Sure. When were you thinking?"

"Maybe this Saturday night?" I continue, digging myself deeper into the hole. "That way we have a few days to find people. I'll uh, I'll text you the details. See you later."

I rush back into my apartment and it takes all of my control to not slam the door behind me. My hands cover my face and I slump back against the door. What did I just do? Now I have to set him up with some random girl? What is wrong with me?

My phone beeps and I look down.

Lora: **Home safely, but that part doesn't matter. DAMN your hall dude is hot. You weren't kidding.**

Kaila: **Nope. Glad you're home!**

Lora: **Question though…does he always only wear a glove on his left hand?**

I frown. I honestly haven't thought much about it. He always wore gloves when he drove me to my meetings, but it was also winter. Now it's March, and who wears gloves when they're working out at the gym? Especially only one?

Kaila: **Honestly haven't noticed that much, but I'm sure there's some explanation. But I have more pressing matters…James and I have a date on Saturday.**

Lora: **Yes!**

Kaila: **NO. A double date. I stupidly said we should set each other up on blind dates.**

Lora: **…why…why would you do that? #idiot**

Kaila: **Thanks for that. I don't know. But I need to find a girl for him.**

Lora: **Natalie from your 20th Century U.S. class? You've said she's awful. You'll look great next to her.**

Kaila: **Then he'll think I have terrible taste in people!**

Lora: **He's already met me, he knows that's not true. Don't stress, you'll figure it out. Just go to bed. See you tomorrrrrow. xoxo**

Kaila: **xoxo**

Still shaking my head at my stupidity I walk into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower will wash away any more dumb ideas that may be crawling around in my head. As I stand under the soothing water, I remember snippets of the night before, like James carefully rinsing vomit off of my body. Furrowing my eyebrows, I recall his touch alternating between warm and cool, seemingly depending on which hand he was touching me with.

I stand perfectly still under the spray, concentrating on piecing more of the night together in my head. I recall James switching out shirts in his room, the moonlight allowing me a blurry glance at his toned upper body. My head may have been a little out of it, but I was conscious enough to appreciate his broad shoulders and sculpted abs. He was cast in a silvery glow, though more of it seemed to be around his left arm, almost as if his entire arm were silver. Made of metal? I shake my head, turning the knob on the shower wall and stepping out into a dry towel. I was horrifically drunk last night and was probably seeing things. Though he does always wear a glove on his left hand…

I stare at myself in the mirror. "Don't worry about it. Just get a good night's sleep." Slipping my bare body under the covers, I reach over to turn off my light. James and his mysterious arm can wait until the morning.

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"I was worried when you didn't show up to lecture yesterday."

I barely glance up at Natalie Ross, uninterested. "That's nice of you, Natalie. Thanks for the concern."

She leans forward on her elbows, staring at me intently. "Seriously, I really like you. And I was wondering if you'd want to work on the project together for Dr. Branch's class."

I shrug, still staring down at the notes I'm writing. "Sure, whatever."

Natalie clasps her hands together. "Awesome! Maybe we can get together this Saturday night to start coming up with ideas!"

I finally give her my full attention, frowning. "The project isn't due for another two months. We don't need to start yet."

She blushes. "Sorry. I'm just…I was just hoping to hang out with you. Get to know you better."

I sigh, annoyed with her kicked puppy act. "Don't apologize. We can work on the project, but just not yet, okay? I have plans Saturday anyway."

Natalie nods vigorously. "Of course. What do you have going on?"

"A double-date," I respond absentmindedly, distracted by my phone going off.

James: **Found you a great date for Saturday. Should be a fun night. Can't wait to meet whoever you bring.**

I gape at the text in disbelief. James has found someone? _Already_? How is that even possible? We (well, I) literally came up with this idiotic plan last night and he's already found a guy for me? _No pressure or anything_.

I eye Natalie, who's still smiling at me winningly. "Hey Natalie…" I start. "Any chance you could actually do Saturday night?"

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*Bucky's POV*

"So let me get this straight," Sam says. "You want me to go on a date, act like I'm into this girl I don't know, be a terrible guy, and literally force her into your arms?"

I shrug at him. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

He stares at me incredulously. "Being bad with women isn't in my nature, man."

I roll my eyes, kicking my feet up on Sam's coffee table. "You just have to pretend. She wants me to find her a date and I don't know who else to ask. Plus, _I_ want to be her date. So you need to be an asshole." I glare at him. "I thought for you that'd be an easy assignment."

Sam pushes my feet off the table. "Get your feet off, I eat on that. You're disgusting."

I raise my eyebrows. "Thank you for proving my point."

He lifts his hands in disbelief. "That's not me being an asshole, that's just me being hygienic. Learn the difference." He leans back on the couch, staring at me thoughtfully. "Fine, I'll do it. But only because I promised to be your wingman when you needed me."

"Yes!" I clench my fists excitedly. "Thank you. I know I'll regret saying this, but I owe you one."

"As far as I'm concerned you owe me more than just _one_ ," Sam grumbles, but I choose not to listen, pulling my phone out and staring at it. "How do I send a text again?"

"Jesus," Sam mutters, tapping an icon on the phone. "Learn the technology, Grandpa."

"I'm trying," I glare at him. "There's just a lot to remember." I slowly type out a text to Kaila using my right index finger, having not quite grasped the two thumbs texting method. Sam snorts, but I ignore him again. I was born in 1917 - give me a break.

Kaila texts me back a few minutes later.

Kaila: **Same here! Should be funnnnnn ;) What do you want to do?**

I show Sam the screen. "What's that?"

He stares back at me, bored. "It's a wink. She's winking at you."

"Huh," I smile slightly. "What's a good double date idea?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. What'd you do back in 1940?"

I scrunch my face up, trying to bring up dusty memories. "I guess…I guess we went dancing?"

Sam chuckles. "We should definitely do that then."

"We should?"

"Oh yeah, definitely."

I eye him suspiciously. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just think dancing is something we should absolutely do. The thought of you dancing makes me so happy, I can't help but laugh."

"God, I can't stand you," I mutter, turning back to my phone.

James: **Do you like to dance?**

Kaila: **Eh, I guess so. Do you?**

James: **Definitely.**

Kaila: **Okay, we can go to a club then. That way we can grab dinner and such as well.**

James: **Perfect.**

I toss my phone onto the couch cushion next to me, smirking at Sam triumphantly. "We're going dancing Saturday night."

He grins, shaking his head. "I guess we are."


	7. Chapter 6: Double Date

*Bucky's POV*

Saturday has come too quickly for my taste.

I drop off and pick up Kaila from her meeting in the morning, neither of us speaking much. She stares silently out the window, watching the buildings pass against the grey March sky. I don't think we know what to say to one another, the upcoming date looming over our heads. I can't say exactly how she's feeling, but I am beyond nervous. I haven't been on a date in almost seventy years, let alone with a girl I actually care about. I'm so absorbed in spending the evening with Kaila _in public_ that I forget there will be two other people involved. If all goes to plan and Sam is the wingman he insists he is, maybe tonight will end with me asking Kaila on a real date. Just the two of us.

I don't know when I realized I have feelings for her; it's all happened so suddenly, without warning. Obviously something blossomed in the two months I spent driving her around New York City, and it definitely became known to me when I picked her up on my doorstep. I still recall the feeling of her warm body in my arms, the silkiness of her skin under my good hand. I get butterflies when I think of her fingers tracing the skin of my ankles, such an innocent gesture sending my head reeling.

I asked Steve earlier in the week if I've ever been in love and he told me no. I was successful with women, sure; being young, charming, attractive, and a sergeant helped me out in that area. But I was never serious about commitment until now. It's not that I'm in love with Kaila, far from it, but according to Steve I've never cared so much about impressing one girl. I know Kaila's different, so I guess it makes sense that the way I feel around her is just as unique.

Sam takes a cab over to my apartment a few hours after I bring Kaila home, insisting that he needs to make sure I 'look presentable' for tonight. He invites himself right in, making a beeline for my shabby closet. He comments on every article of clothing he touches, constantly reminding me of my terrible style. I reiterate that I was on the run for a few years of my life. Fashionable clothing wasn't exactly high on my priority list.

I'm sprawled out on the armchair in my room, observing Sam's destruction of my closet. He's muttering under his breath, most likely cursing my very existence. I let myself lean back and enjoy the show. Anything that irritates Sam, pleases me.

"So, what's the deal, Buck?" asks Sam, back still turned to me. "Why are you so tense about tonight?"

I scoff. "Tense? What are you talking about?"

Sam turns around, holding one of my shirts in each hand. "You're so…uptight. You've already hung out with this girl one-on-one a emmillion/em times. How is this date any different?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess because it feels so formal. Which you're not helping with, by the way." I gesture to him tossing around my clothes. "Kaila has never expressed any interest in what I wear. You doing this is making me…"

"Insecure?" Sam snorts.

"I wish I could think of a better word, but yeah, sure." I sigh. "It all feels like a really big deal. I'm freaking out."

His face softens slightly and he walks over to me, dumping an armful of shirts on my bed. "Look. It's going to be fine, you know why? Because I'm your wingman. And I'm the best damn wingman anyone could ever have. I literally have fucking wings, okay? So no more of this moping around. By the end of the night, you'll have this girl in the palm of your hand."

I frown. "That's the other thing: my hand." I stare down at the metal appendage. "I'm starting to feel guilty about keeping this from her."

Sam takes a step back. "What? Why?"

I shake my head, clenching and unclenching my fist, watching the grooves slide and ripple with my movements. "I don't know why. Maybe because she's told me so much about her life, things she doesn't like to talk about." I gaze up at Sam. "I'm feeling like I should return the favor."

Sam holds both his hands up. "That is a terrible idea."

I frown. "Really?"

"Definitely. Don't you want things to work out with her?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then why tell her about a part of you that doesn't exist anymore? You'll just scare her off. No girl wants to hear that the guy she likes is an ex-assassin with a metal arm. Trust me, if you tell her about the Winter Soldier, you might as well kiss any opportunity with her goodbye. That shit's _way_ too heavy."

I glare at him, hurt by his reaction. "But I was talking to Steve last week, and he thinks that me telling her wouldn't be a big deal."

Sam shrugs. "You do what you want, man. I'm just giving you my opinion."

"Yeah," I settle back into my seat. "Duly noted."

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I'm sweating profusely by the time 8:00 pm rolls around, thankful for the amount of deodorant and the subtle cologne I put on my body. Sam reclines on the couch next to me, feet kicked up on my coffee table, as calm as can be. This date means nothing to him. He has zero stakes and zero reason to be nervous. I would appreciate his relaxed attitude if I weren't so pissed at him.

What he said earlier about the Winter Soldier hurt me. I know he didn't mean to (even though he usually does), but hearing him voice aloud my doubts about telling Kaila the truth only makes me feel more hesitant. It's a double-edged sword; if I tell her the truth, I could ruin any potential relationship for us. If I don't tell her, the guilt would eat me alive and do the exact same thing. Additionally, Steve thinks I should tell her, while Sam thinks I shouldn't. I would choose Steve's advice 9.99 times out of a ten compared to Sam. But with this…Any dissent to me telling Kaila shakes every bit of confidence I have.

I hear a light knock on my door, immediately crossing the room in five strides to let Kaila in. My mouth drops when I see the woman standing on the other side.

I've never seen Kaila dressed up; she's usually in a baggy sweater and leggings or jeans when I drive her on Saturdays, hair down under her favorite knit hat. But tonight…tonight she looks very, very different.

She's wearing a black high-waisted skirt and a cropped white tank top, leaving a small strip of skin bare underneath her ribs. A light jacket covers her arms for now, though I'm sure she'll take it off at the club. Her thick dark hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, she's wearing dark eye make-up, and her lips are a deep red. My eyes travel down her body, landing finally on the black pumps she's standing in. I don't know what to say.

"How are you going to stand in those all night?" I have such a way with words.

Kaila rolls her eyes at me. "Are you kidding? These shoes are awesome. Plus, this isn't exactly my first time dancing in them."

I nod, still distracted by her appearance, not noticing Sam showing up at my shoulder. He reaches a hand out to Kaila, kissing the back of hers gently. I glare at him, especially once I see her blush.

"I'm Sam, your date for tonight."

"Kaila," she replies, eyes running down his toned body. I feel completely invisible.

"Bucky didn't tell me how beautiful you are," Sam says, giving her a charming smile.

Kaila raises her eyebrows at me, blushing further. "He didn't, huh? Well, that's sweet of you to say anyway. Though I gotta be honest, I'm more intrigued by what you just called him…Bucky, was it?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah, nickname of mine."

"It's short for his middle name, Buchanan," Sam clarifies.

"So your full name is James Buchanan Barnes?" Kaila furrows her eyebrows thoughtfully. "When I say it all together like that it sounds super familiar. I swear to God I've read that somewhere."

I shoot Sam an exasperated look. "Probably not. Maybe you're thinking of James Buchanan, the president?"

She gives me a weird look. "Maybe…I don't know, but that's gonna bother me all night. Anyway!" She claps her hands together. "Natalie's planning to meet us at the club at 8:30, so we better get going." She pulls her purse more securely on her shoulder, leading the way downstairs. I watch her walk in her high heels, half impressed, half terrified that she's going to break an ankle and topple right down. My worries are unnecessary, as she makes it down in one piece, though my stomach still swims with nerves. I'm already off to a terrible start.

Sam calls shotgun, leaving Kaila to crawl into the back. Despite being further back in the car, she still holds on to the handle on the ceiling, other fist closed tightly in her lap. We briefly make eye contact in the rearview mirror and I smile, hoping to give her a little comfort. She grins tightly back, and I notice her exhaling, body relaxing slightly for the remainder of the drive.

I don't know what to expect from the club (I haven't been dancing since before I deployed), but when we pull up, I already know I'm completely out of my element. When we enter the building, it's like I've entered another planet. What happened to good old fashioned dancing? What have I walked into?

A loud noise blares through the speakers, so chaotic and disjointed I can't even call it music. The room is completely dark, packed with people, only lit from the sporadic lights flashing against the walls. There are so many colors, so many sounds, and the smell of alcohol, sweat, and perfume fills my nose. Couples lounge against couches, bending closer to carry on conversations over the din, while duos (or trios, apparently) slide against one another on the dance floor. I can only stand there, dumbfounded. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam shaking with laughter. So this is why he wanted us to go dancing; he knew it'd be nothing like the dancing I remember.

"There's Natalie," says Kaila, pointing to a blonde haired girl walking towards us. The blonde waves enthusiastically, while Kaila barely gives her a nod.

The blonde girl, Natalie, slings an arm around Kaila's shoulders, a drink clutched in her other hand. I glance at Kaila, searching for a reaction, but she stares pointedly in another direction, refusing to make eye contact with me. It's obvious she doesn't want me to make a big deal out of the cup's contents. With a jolt I remember that Kaila had a meeting this morning, her first meeting since the drinking incident Monday night. Even though I drove her there and back, I never asked how it went. I'm an asshole.

"I'm Natalie," the blonde says, giving me a wide smile. "You must be James." Her blue eyes travel down my body, and I don't miss the appreciation there. A long time ago I probably would be interested in a girl like Natalie. How things have changed since then.

I can barely hear myself or anyone else over the music, but I somehow am able to introduce Sam to Natalie, find a man to check our coats, and recommend that we all grab a table. We move our way along the edge of the dance floor, locating a free booth for the four of us. I catch myself admiring Kaila's figure as she walks in front of me, taking in her rounded hips and backside. As a man from the 1940's I'm a sucker for soft curves, especially in the hip area.

We settle down at a table, order some food, and make small talk for about an hour. I feel like I'm practically shouting despite them being inches away from me, but they don't seem bothered by the volume I'm speaking at. I learn that Natalie has class with Kaila and that they're both working on a project together, though I notice Kaila's lack of enthusiasm. She rolls her eyes subtly at the majority of things Natalie says, mainly ignoring the blonde and focusing on Sam. I try to hold my conversation with Natalie while still listening in to what the two of them are talking about, though the music and Natalie's shrill voice makes it difficult.

"Can I get you a drink?" I finally decipher from Sam, instantly turning to face him, not caring that Natalie is still talking.

Kaila glances down at the table, her hands pulling at one another. "No, no, that's okay."

Sam leans across the table closer to her, stilling her hands with his own. "You're a pretty girl and I want to buy you a drink. Come on, it's on me. What do you want?"

It's painful to watch Kaila fighting her instinct to play with Sam's hands, smoothly moving her hands out from under his to grip the edge of the table. She tosses her hair a little, smiling at him flirtatiously. "I don't want anything. I want to remember tonight."

Sam raises his eyebrows slightly. "Yeah? Any reason in particular?"

Kaila shrugs one bare shoulder, feigning innocence. I've never seen her act so suggestively, and though I know it's an act to make Sam drop the subject, I want to punch him in his stupid face. He's supposed to be helping me, not hitting on her.

"She can't have a drink because she's an alcoholic."

Three pairs of eyes turn to face Natalie, who's casually stirring her drink with one finger. Kaila raises her eyebrows. " _Excuse me_? How do you even know that?"

Sam glances at me, eyes wide. "It's true?" I can only glare at Natalie.

Natalie shrugs, ignoring Sam. "I have a friend who goes to the same meetings as you."

Kaila gapes at her. "Isn't it called Alcoholics emAnonymous/em for a reason? Your friend had no right to tell you I go there! And how do they even know who I am?"

Natalie holds up her hands in surrender. "Jeez, I'm sorry. I thought you guys were all about being proud and loud about your past. She knows you because I've mentioned you, from class and stuff. She just wanted to let me know so I could keep an eye on you. I didn't think you'd get upset."

Kaila scoffs. "Okay. Well, first, I don't need anyone's eye kept on me, least of all yours. We barely even know each other. Second, there's a huge difference between _owning_ something and being _proud_ of something. Ask your friend to explain it for you." She stands up, adjusting her skirt and grabbing Sam's hand. "Let's go dance."

I watch the two of them disappear into the mass of grinding people, eventually turning back to frown at Natalie. "You shouldn't have said anything."

Natalie takes a sip of her drink, eyes wide. "I really didn't know she'd get so upset. I thought she was open about it."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 11.2px;"I sigh. "She is. But you can't go around blurting that kind of thing out. She likes to say it herself."

Natalie leans her chin into her palm, red and purple lights flashing against her face. "I am sorry," she pouts. "Do you want to dance with me?"

I nod, though my brain tells me no. "Alright."

Natalie leads me by the hand, stopping us at the dance floor. Putting her arms on my shoulders she moves her body fluidly against mine, placing my hands on the bare skin of her back. Her dress molds to her like a second skin, the entire back missing despite the high neckline. It fits her well and highlights her tall, thin body, but I'm distracted, trying to catch a glimpse of a short dark-haired someone among the dancers.

Natalie turns her back to me, moving my hands to the front of her body and circling her hips against mine to the music. My shoulders and arms stiffen, and I put all my concentration into not letting _other_ areas stiffen as well. It's been years since any girl has been pressed against me in this way. It's almost embarrassing how easily my body reacts, despite searching for Kaila through the crowd.

I finally spot Sam holding onto Kaila's hips, her arms slung over his shoulders. She dances similarly to how Natalie is, throwing her head back and laughing at something Sam just said — apparently she finds him hilarious. My chest tightens. She's not my girlfriend, she's just recently become my friend, but the sight of Sam's arms around her makes my head pound harder than the 'music' I'm shuffling back and forth to. This was an awful idea. The dancing, inviting Sam, letting Kaila bring Natalie, all of it. I'm not some jealous guy who gets protective over a girl I have no right to feel this way about. Kaila doesn't even know I have feelings for her, feelings that she most likely doesn't reciprocate.

"Hey," Natalie takes my chin, pulling my eyes back down to hers. I didn't even notice that she turned back around to face me. "If you're so obsessed with her, why'd you agree to go out with me?"

I gaze at her helplessly. "I don't know."

The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. "So you do like her."

I exhale forcefully, dropping my hands from her hips. "I guess. It's just…complicated, okay? I'm sorry you had to get dragged into it."

Natalie shrugs. "I'm fine with it. _I_ can swipe up whatever guy I want from this place." She turns her head, picking out Kaila and Sam among the dancers. "The question is though, will you be able to get the girl _you_ want?"

I follow her line of sight, watching Sam bend down slightly to whisper something in Kaila's ear. She bites her lip, arching an eyebrow back at him before responding. I look down at my feet, wiping my sweaty palms against my pants. Some wingman he is.

Natalie touches my chin again, bringing my blue eyes back up to hers. "Maybe it's for the best. She has a lot of issues: she's damaged. Let her be his problem."

I step back from her, jaw clenching. "That's the thing; I'm damaged too."

I suddenly find it difficult to breathe, the walls of the club getting smaller and smaller with each labored breath I take. It's a terrifying feeling to stand in a room full of people and realize that I'm not meant to be there; I'm supposed to be dead or in a nursing home. None of these people were born remotely close to when I was and none of them know what it was like to grow up when I did. Worse, I doubt any of them have ever killed like I have, mercilessly, skillfully, and without question. I'm a damaged, fucked up, ancient, killer. And I should have died over seventy years ago.

I leave Natalie where she stands, maneuvering my way through the crowd to get to Sam and Kaila. Resisting the urge to pound Sam's back, I tap him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm getting outta here. This isn't for me."

Sam furrows his eyebrows, hands still on Kaila's body. "C'mon dude, you're bailing on us? How are we supposed to get home?"

I shrug. "Take a cab. I need some air, alright? This was a mistake."

Kaila frowns. "I thought you said you liked dancing."

I shake my head. "Guess it wasn't what I remembered. See ya around."

I stalk back across the dance floor, leaving the two of them gaping after me. I know I'm being rude, I know I'm probably overreacting, but I can't stay in this stuffy room for one more minute. The noise is massacring my head, I'm sweating through my shirt, and my stomach churns. I don't know if it's with leftover anger at Sam, from the sight of Kaila with him, homesickness, or pure anxiety. I just know that I need to get out.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steve. I'm really glad you picked up."

"Of course. What's going on, Buck?"

I lean back against the metal railing of the staircase outside my apartment, relishing the cool air washing over my face. It's a perfect March night; fifty degrees, light breeze, stars twinkling overhead. Cars crawl by at a leisurely place, headlights dancing across the sidewalks. Everyone's probably out having a good time tonight, just like I should be.

"I'm fucked up."

"What?"

I suddenly find it takes too much energy to stand, lowering myself down onto the fourth step above the sidewalk. I run my free hand over my face, hating the stinging of tears I feel in the corner of my eyes. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do this anymore."

Steve hears the thickness in my voice, his becoming more frantic over the phone. "Bucky, you gotta talk to me. What's going on? I thought you had a double-date with Sam and Kaila tonight."

"Yeah," I laugh derisively, letting one tear slip down my cheek. "What a fucking mess that was. We went dancing. You know what dancing is like today, Steve? It stinks. It's not even…it's not even dancing."

Steve chuckles lightly. "I remember being a little shocked too. But it can't just be the dancing that's got you like this."

"Of course not." I exhale, probably sending static into Steve's ear. "I'm not meant for this life. I'm not meant to take a girl out and buy her dinner and pretend that everything's normal. I can't dance next to other people without wondering if I served in the military with their grandparents or God forbid, killed someone they loved. I can't walk around this city anymore pretending everything's fine when it's not. It's not. I'm _not_ fine, Steve." My voice cracks on the last few words, and I wipe my palm quickly against my cheek, brushing away the wetness there.

Steve sighs. "I know. I can't pretend to understand everything you're feeling right now, Bucky, but I do get a lot of it. I truly do. And what I can tell you is that it gets easier."

I scoff.

"I know that's not what you want to hear right now," he continues, ignoring me. "But it won't always feel like this. One day you're gonna wake up, and you're going to appreciate that you can just check today's weather on the phone. You're gonna be thankful that you can call in whatever food you're in the mood for, or get in contact with me within a couple seconds. Hell, maybe one day you'll even enjoy dancing at the club. Bad examples maybe, but my point is, this time era isn't all that bad. It's actually a lot better than when we grew up. I know it's an adjustment right now, but you will adjust. It just takes some time."

He pauses for a breath, and I can hear him settling further into his seat. "As far as the other demons you have, I think the more you talk about it, the easier that will get too."

I shake my head, voice still scratchy. "I don't know who to talk to."

"Well, me, for one," Steve replies. "And anyone else in the Avengers. Maybe one day Kaila, too. We're not here to judge you, Bucky. We want to help you."

My stomach clenches again at the thought of Sam's words from earlier. "Maybe not everyone."

"What makes you say that?"

I repeat to him what Sam said about telling Kaila the truth.

Steve sighs. I can picture him shaking his hand, fingers pressed to his temples. "Well, Sam's an idiot. Honesty is rarely the wrong decision; I've learned that the hard way. As far as Kaila is concerned, you need to choose what's right. That article will be released soon anyway, Buck, and I'm sure she'd prefer to hear it from you. Especially since it seems you two have become pretty close."

I nod, distracted by the taxi now pulling up against the sidewalk in front of me. Kaila steps out of the backseat, pulling down the hem of her skirt as it rides up when she exits. She makes eye contact with me, giving a little wave. I nod back, thankful all the tears have left my eyes.

"You're right," I say, keeping my eyes trained on hers. She walks over to the staircase I'm sitting on, apartment keys in her hand. "Hey, I'm actually going to let you go. Kaila just got dropped off. I want to talk to her."

"Absolutely. I'm glad you called, and I hope I helped."

"You always do. Talk to you later. Thanks a lot." I end the call, placing my phone on the step next to me. I smile tightly at Kaila, her stopping at the foot of the staircase. Even though I'm sitting on the fourth step and she's standing, our eyes are about level to one another.

"Hey," she says, wind tangling into her already messed up ponytail. "Mind if I sit with you?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

She climbs up the steps, sitting to my right with a sigh. Once she sets her keys and bag down, she immediately pulls her shoes off to rub the arches of her feet. I raise an eyebrow at her. "I thought they were supposed to be comfortable."

"Eh." She waves a hand. "I was just acting tough."

I shake my head at her, smiling slightly. Her dark eyes remain trained on my face, seemingly waiting for me to speak. I gesture to the cars passing in front of us, watching them file by. "Sam took a taxi home?"

"Yeah," she replies. "He paid for mine, too. He's a nice guy; he was worried about you when you took off."

I can't help but snort. "I'm sure."

"I thought you guys were friends," she says. "Isn't that why you brought him?"

I turn my head back to her, taking in her furrowed eyebrows. "We are friends. He can just…he can be a lot sometimes." I swallow. "Though you seemed to be enjoying his company."

Kaila frowns, gazing at me suspiciously. "Is that why you left? Because the two of us were dancing? He was talking you up the entire time. He's quite the wingman."

I raise my eyebrows, staring at her in disbelief. "What?"

Kaila grins. "You goof. Sam was telling me amazing things about you; how kind you are, what a good friend you are, how funny you are. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was in love with you. As far as Sam and I are concerned, you don't need to worry about that."

I clear my throat awkwardly. "I wasn't worried."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "If you say so."

I shake my head, glancing away. "Okay, maybe I was. I don't really know what's going on with me. But what I do know…" My blue eyes meet brown, unable to stop myself from continuing. "I do know that I would've enjoyed myself more if it was just the two of us tonight."

Kaila's cheeks turn slightly pink, though I'm not sure if it's from the cold or my words. She laughs slightly, running a hand through her ponytail. "Me too."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Then why'd you ask to go on a double date?"

She rolls her eyes, groaning. "Ugh. That wasn't my original plan; I wanted to ask you out, but I thought I just freaked you out instead."

I grin at her, hope rising in my chest. "You did freak me out, but not in a bad way. I just haven't uh…I haven't been on a date in a long time. I didn't know what to say."

Kaila shrugs. "Me either. Maybe we can…" She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, gazing at me nervously. "Maybe we can try again. Just the two of us."

I break out in a full smile now, cheeks hurting from lack of use. I can't recall the last time I smiled so much. "I'd really like that."

She smiles back. "Good."

We both return to watching cars zoom past, taking a minute to let the situation settle in. I think we just admitted to having feelings for each other. I _think_. But what do I know?

I'm struck immediately by a funny thought, shaking my head. "I can't believe you chose Natalie for the double date, even though it was fake. She is not the type of girl I picture you being friends with."

Kaila exhales, rolling her eyes. "Well, you're not wrong; I can't stand Natalie. Her and I definitely aren't friends, but she acts like we're super close. And apparently, weirdly enough, she knows a bunch of personal stuff about me."

My face softens. "I'm sorry about what she said. That was…really unnecessary of her."

Kaila lifts her hands helplessly, letting them drop back in her lap. "Yeah, well. What can ya do?"

I reach out my right hand to her, letting Kaila smooth her fingers over mine, tangling them together. "How was the meeting today?" I ask, focusing on our intertwined hands. "Since it was the first meeting since…Monday night."

Kaila exhales forcefully, still intent on my fingers. "Can you believe Monday was only five days ago?"

I shake my head.

"It was fine, I guess," she continues. "Of course I had to tell everyone what I did, since transparency is part of recovery. And now my time span without alcohol has to start over." She leans her head back, staring at a spot miles above our heads. "Two months. I was doing so well, too."

I squeeze her hand encouragingly before letting go. "You'll get back on track. I'm sure they told you that relapses are part of recovery too."

She nods. "Yeah, they did. But then of course, I'm a genius and suggest we go to a club tonight, which practically lives off of alcohol. That was dumb of me. And then freakin' Natalie goes sloshing around with her cup, acting like she knows all about my life." Kaila sighs. "God, she's so stupid. Like, seriously. What an idiot."

I don't know if it's the way she says it or the look on her face, but I can't help but laugh, her luckily joining in a few seconds later. We sit there, shoulder to shoulder, losing it over practically nothing. The serious conversation dissipates, the tension lifts, and I'm quickly forgetting why we're laughing. Instead, I'm hyper-aware of her clothed shoulder against mine, along with the heady smell of her perfume. She sits hunched over on the step, keeping her jacket wrapped tightly across her shaking abdomen. Her ponytail isn't as neat as it was earlier, random strands sticking out here and there, though her makeup remains perfect. I could sit like this with her forever.

"You do look beautiful tonight," I say gently, once our laughs subside. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier."

Her brown eyes meet mine, widening in shock. "Um…" She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing away. "Thanks. That really…that really means a lot." Her eyes slide back to mine boldly. "More than if anyone else said it."

My heart stops. I clear my throat. "Yeah?"

Kaila nods. "Yeah. When you say that…I don't know." She looks down again, laughing nervously. "It's stupid."

"What?" I dip my head, forcing her to make eye contact again. "Hey, it's me. You can tell me anything."

She nods, again meeting my gaze. "When you say it…I can't breathe."

I suddenly find that I can't either, inhaling and exhaling shaky breaths. "Is that a good thing?"

Her eyes glance down at my lips, so quickly I almost miss it. "Yes," she whispers. "It's a very, very good thing."

I swallow thickly. She turns herself so she's now facing me, her right hand tentatively coming up to cup my cheek. She rubs a thumb along the stubble there, lightly brushing my bottom lip. My breath hitches. Her left hand moves to my side, palm sliding around my torso to the small of my back. I know what she's going to do; my body is on fire.

Kaila's face comes closer to mine until our noses gently brush against one another. I smell the peppermint sweetness of her breath, can almost taste her warmth. My heart pounds at a frantic pace, head swimming from her nearness. "Wait," I whisper, just as her lips are mere millimeters from mine. "I have to tell you something."

She pulls her face back enough to make eye contact with me. "Can't it wait?"

I gaze at her, taking in her delicately shaped face and large brown eyes. Her skin shines pale under the moonlight and lampposts, red lips full and slightly parted. I cup her cheek in my right hand, mirroring her actions, my gloved hand slipping around her waist. "Yeah, it can wait."

And I kiss her.

I've never understood when people talk about fireworks when you kiss someone; I've never experienced that feeling. I love kissing women, had kissed many women when I was younger, but never felt that magical moment. Of course, until now.

I feel fireworks and explosions and electricity coursing through my body. Kaila surrounds me, overwhelms me, flows into every one of my senses. Her lips brush gently against mine, one hand combing through my hair, the other fisted onto the back of my shirt. My right hand moves down her cheek to the smooth column of her neck, running over her shoulder and arm until it joins my left hand at her waist.

My fingers meet the bare skin peeking above her skirt and she sighs into my mouth at the contact, though straightens up slightly in her seated position. I'm too wrapped up in the experience to wonder why, my brain packing away the information for later. I just continue to kiss her, fingers drawing patterns against her exposed midriff.

Kaila brings both of her hands to my neck, moving closer to me on the step. She tilts her head slightly, tongue carefully touching my bottom lip. I open my mouth, letting her in, groaning softly at the taste of her. Her warm hands move away from my neck to rest on my chest, and I know she can feel my heart hammering under her palms. I continue to explore her mouth with my tongue, meeting hers in a dance I could do for eternity. Kissing her is above and beyond anything I could ever imagine.

It feels like hours but we finally pull away from one another, both breathing heavily. My hands still encircle her waist, while hers remain pressed against my chest. She lets out a breathy laugh, leaning in once again to press her lips chastely against mine. I use my right hand to push the loose strands of her hair out of her face, enjoying the silkiness of the dark curls between my fingers.

"We're definitely going on that date now," Kaila murmurs.

"Yeah," I nod in agreement, still playing with her hair.

She ducks her head a little, cheeks turning red, patting her palms lightly against their spot on my pecs. "It really is always chest day, huh?"

I shake my head, chuckling. "I swear it isn't."

"But…" She presses her hands more firmly against my chest and I swallow, imagining what it would feel like without the fabric there. "You're so…big."

I cock an eyebrow at her, smirking as her eyes widen. "I didn't mean…" She stumbles over her words, face reddening at a comical pace. "I meant it like…"

I gently kiss her forehead, stilling her words. "I know what you meant." I stand up, offering her a hand to get up as well. "But even if you meant something else, you're not wrong there either."

Kaila rolls her eyes at me, accepting my hand. "Now you're just getting big-headed."

I shake my head, smiling teasingly. "Nah. Just being honest."

Kaila bends down slightly, picking up her shoes, bag, and keys. "Who are you and what have you done with polite James? I don't usually see this side of you."

I shrug. "Tonight has just taken a turn for the better, that's all."

She tilts her head back, grinning up at me. "It really has."

I hold open the door to the building for her, enjoying the way her eyes trail down my body when she walks by. This is different from when Natalie did it; with Kaila, my entire body tingles under her gaze.

Kaila stops at the bottom of the staircase, groaning as she attempts to pull her shoes back on. "There's no way in hell I'm walking on this floor in bare feet. It's pretty disgusting. Even if the elevator was working, I would not go in there without shoes."

I frown. "But don't your feet hurt?"

She shrugs. "After a few hours in these, what's a couple more minutes?"

I roll my eyes. "I can carry you, ya know."

Kaila stiffens. "It's seven floors. You're not carrying me up seven floors."

"I carried you around my apartment Monday night."

She makes a sound of exasperation. "But that was for like, five seconds. On a flat surface. This is seven floors of staircase to walk up, while holding me. I'm not exactly light." Her face turns bright red.

I want to tell her that I can rip the door off of a car without breaking a sweat, but I'm sure that information would do the opposite of calm her down. "You're not heavy. Hey, look. You can carry your belongings and I'll carry you. Deal? Great."

I scoop her up with ease, Kaila letting out a little squeal of surprise. I enjoy having her in my arms again, this time with the ability to talk to me as I take us up seven flights of stairs. I hope she notices that I'm not struggling while lifting her and am barely out of breath. Even if I wasn't a super soldier, she'd be easy for me to hold. I don't miss, however, the way she crosses her arms across her stomach, hiding the skin from me as she reclines in my arms.

When we reach our floor I set Kaila down gently on her welcome mat. She fixes her skirt and shirt, pulling the hem of each down a bit. "Thanks for the lift," Kaila says, smiling wryly. "Looks like you do have a leg and arm day after all."

I roll my eyes at her. "I told you. And you're easy to carry."

Kaila clears her throat, glancing away quickly. "Okay."

"Hey," I step towards her, touching her chin lightly so she'll meet my eyes. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she replies, eyebrows creasing slightly. "Why?"

I frown at her. "Earlier when we were…" I hesitate.

"Kissing. Or making out, if you will," Kaila fills in, laughing slightly at my shyness. "That's indeed what we were doing."

"Yeah, kissing," I mutter. "I noticed when I touched your waist, you kinda…tensed. I should've asked in the moment, but if you don't want me to touch you there, I won't. I don't want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable."

Her face softens. "James…" She shakes her head at me. "You didn't do anything wrong, I promise. It's just me. I've been sucking in in this skirt all night, so when you touched me I just wanted to sit up straighter. Because when I sit I get…soft."

"What?" I shake my head at her. "I don't understand."

"Oh my god," Kaila hides her face in her hands. "This skirt is snug," she mumbles, hands muffling her voice. "And I don't have a perfectly flat stomach, so when I sit, I get stomach rolls. And I didn't want you to feel that when you touched me. There ya go. Happy?"

I gape at her, dumbfounded. Gently taking her hands in mine I pull them away from her face, instead placing my palms against her cheeks. "Hey," I say softly. "I hope you know that I don't care about that."

Her bottom lip shakes slightly. "Don't you? You're a perfect physical specimen. I'm still getting rid of excess alcohol weight."

I shake my head. "I promise you, I'm not perfect. Not even close. And as far as you, I like you just the way you are. I wouldn't change a thing."

"Okay," she whispers, eyes locked on mine.

"Good," I kiss her forehead, before moving down to her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, until I finally meet her mouth. Her hands instantly move to my sides, gripping the fabric in her fists. My hands drift down to her waist, stroking her soft skin, proving my point.

Kaila pulls away slightly. "I'm standing now, it doesn't count."

I chuckle. "Whatever. My point still stands. You're beautiful."

Her arms remain looped loosely around my waist and she leans back so she can meet my eye. "So are you."

I redden. "Alright. You're officially delirious and tired. You need to get to bed."

"Wowwwww," Kaila releases me, fishing her keys out of her purse. "You can dish it, but you can't take it. We'll have to work on that, James."

I grin at her, pulling my own keys out. "I look forward to it."

"Hey, James." I turn back to her, admiring her leaning against her open door. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh! That uh…" I scratch the back of my neck. Now is definitely not the time for _that_ conversation, and I wonder why I even considered it before she kissed me. I create a new topic off the top of my head, though it's still completely true. "I want you to know that I really care about you, more than any other girl I've ever met. I've never been so um…drawn to anyone before. Until you."

I watch her swallow thickly, eyes shining slightly. "Thanks," she responds, quickly clearing up her face with a smile. "Do you…" She hesitates.

I raise my eyebrows, encouraging her to continue. "Do I what?"

She takes her phone out of her bag, checking the time. "It's only 10:30. Do you want to change into comfy clothes and come back over to my place? Eat ice cream, maybe just talk?"

I let out a shaky breath, thinking of what the implications could be if I go over. Will she expect _something_ from me? Is 'talking' a euphemism? It's not my first time, but it's been a long, long time. And I don't think I'm ready for that.

Kaila senses my doubt, quickly adding on to her statement. "I'm not trying to seduce you, I swear. If we're being real, I'm not ready for anything serious at the moment. I just…" She shrugs. "I just really like spending time with you."

I nod. "I do too. So yeah," I give her a grin. "Yeah, I'm going to go change, and then I'll be right over."

Her face lights up. "Awesome. See you in five?"

I can't help but beam back. "Absolutely. See you in five."


	8. Chapter 7: Real Talk

*Kaila's POV*

In my brain, there are two types of people; those you will always want to look perfect in front of and those who you can look homeless with and not care less. I've learned from experience that the latter are people you want to cultivate relationships with. Take Lora, for example. I've looked like complete and utter trash in front of her and I'm still her favorite person in the world (not including her girlfriend). Relationships to me are about comfort and stability, feeling totally at ease with being yourself. If you're spending a relationship constantly trying to impress someone or show your best face, you're wasting a lot of energy. I say that the people who are worth your time are the people who will accept you at any time.

Within a couple months of knowing James, I'm happy to say that he fits in the same category as Lora. He has seen me at literally my worst; covered in vomit, stained with tears, drunk into oblivion, yet he's still around. It's for this reason that I'm able to curl across from him on my couch eating a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream while wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt. In comparison to Monday night, I must look like a goddess right now.

Of course, James is wearing nearly the same thing I am while working on his _second_ pint of ice cream, and he looks like an actual god. His biceps strain against the thin material of his long sleeve shirt and I took an appreciative glance at his toned sweatpant-clad backside when he got up earlier for a glass of water. His hair is slightly tousled, stubble accents his sharp jawline, and his smile lights up his blue eyes. I almost want to hate him, he's so unfairly good-looking.

James and I have spent the last hour making idle chatter and eating our ice cream, with the occasional kiss thrown in here and there. He's attentive, always asking questions about me and listening intently to the answers. I tell him more about my friendship with Lora, my work with my major, and embarrassing stories of my childhood. Our conversation is easy and light, flowing without much effort. Even our silences are comfortable, though I don't usually let them last for long.

"So," I say between bites of Cinnamon Buns ice cream. "Lora and I have this thing called 'Real Talk.' It's kinda like choosing 'truth' in Truth or Dare, but cooler. If I say 'real talk' before I ask you a question, that means you need to give a truthful answer. Want to play along?"

He shrugs, taking a spoonful of Red Velvet Cake. "Yeah, sure. But I'm gonna warn you, I might ask some hard questions."

I giggle at him, setting my ice cream on the coffee table. "I think I can handle it. Okay, here I go. Real talk…how is it that you're able to eat two pints of ice cream and maintain your perfect figure?"

James stares at me before letting out a laugh. "Seriously? That's your big question? That's what you're dying to know?"

I shrug. "What can I say? I've watched you pound down a pint and a half of Ben & Jerry's ice cream without breaking a sweat. Ben and Jerry do not make those low calorie, my friend; there's a lot of sugar and heavy cream in those suckers. Oh, and when we went to Moe's, don't think I didn't notice you taking on _two_ Homewreckers. Those things are huge!"

James puts his ice cream on the table next to mine, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, now you're making me feel bad about my eating habits. Thanks a lot."

"No, no." I crawl across the couch so I'm kneeling in front of him, unlocking his arms so I can settle against his chest. He automatically wraps his right arm around me, holding me protectively to his side. "I'm just impressed. I didn't mean to make you feel self-conscious."

He gazes down at me, smiling slightly. "I know. And to answer your question, I work out a lot. And I have a really fast metabolism."

"Blah," I wiggle out of his embrace, scooting back to my place against the opposite arm of the couch. "I hate people like you. Why do you get blessed with a high metabolism and I don't?"

A strange look crosses his face and I furrow my eyebrows slightly. I'm just about to ask what's wrong before his face softens, leaving me wondering if I imagined it. James just grins cheekily at me. "You could come to the gym with me if you want."

I glare at him. "I think you already know my response to that. Besides, I thought you liked me just the way I am?"

His smile widens. "Of course I do. I just want you to like you too."

"Oh god," I roll my eyes. "You with the lines. I'm coming back over."

I scoot myself across the couch again, snuggling against his muscular chest. I sigh contentedly, enjoying the comfortable weight of his arm around my back. His heart beats steadily under my ear, though I notice the pace quickens slightly the longer I sit there. It's nice to know that I have such an effect on him.

"Real talk," James says, right hand running through my hair. "How on earth did you make it up seven flights of stairs when you were drunk?"

I snort against the fabric of his shirt. "That's your question?"

He shrugs. "I've been wondering all week."

"Well," I adjust into a more comfortable position, sighing heavily. "My honest answer for you is dumb luck. Other than that, I have no fucking clue."

He flinches slightly and I frown up at him. "James Buchanan Barnes…are you bothered by my language choices?"

James clears his throat, avoiding my gaze. I gasp. "Oh my god, you are! Are you kidding me?"

He shakes his head. "You saying that doesn't bother me."

"Hey," I reply. "You and I are having Real Talk, so don't lie to me. You're under sacred oath."

He chuckles slightly, still refusing to make eye contact. "Okay, maybe I'm a little shocked. I'm not used to women talking like that."

I sit straight up, knocking his arm off me in the process. Eyebrows furrowed, I stare at the profile of his face. "James, everyone swears these days. Men, women, even seven-year olds on the bus. Swearing is a non-gendered past-time."

He swallows, shifting uncomfortably.

"Do you swear?" I press. He nods. "Do your friends swear?" He nods again. "Okay, so why can't I?"

James shrugs helplessly, finally meeting my eyes. "When you say it out loud, of course it sounds stupid. I'm sorry. I guess all I can say is…" He rubs a hand over his face. "I grew up in a very traditional household. So…I'm still adjusting to a lot of things. Even now."

I feel the agitation leaving me, replaced by curiosity. "You…you've never talked about your family before. Or even your life, really."

James laughs dryly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess I haven't."

"I'd love to learn more."

I raise my eyebrows slightly, expecting him to answer, but he doesn't. James' entire demeanor has changed in less than five seconds. He stares pointedly at the wallpaper of my living room, jaw clenching. For the first time in two months, I feel a drop of ice run down my spine. I don't know anything about James' past, or even his present. I feel like he knows my entire life story, while he remains a complete mystery to me. It's never bothered me before, but watching him right now, face stony and closed off, fists closing and opening methodically, purposefully deflecting my questions, I'm ashamed to admit I'm a little scared.

"Um," I glance away from him, sitting back against my side of the couch. He doesn't even react to the movement. "I'm sorry if I brought up something you don't want to talk about. It's just that you know a lot about me now, and I thought…I thought I could learn more about you too."

The tension in the room smothers us both.

James gnaws on his bottom lip, still fascinated with the deep green walls around us. I don't know what to say or do to get him out of his funk, so I stay curled into myself, becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. I swallow hard. "James. You're starting to freak me out."

He closes his eyes briefly, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Opening his eyes he relaxes his hands, face softening as he takes in my body on the opposite end of the couch. I stare back at him, eyes wide. I have no idea what to do.

"I'm sorry." He shifts towards me and I reflexively scoot back. I hate the pained look that flashes in his blue eyes, but I also can't ignore the alarms going off in my head. I may have spent two months in his car, he may have taken care of me, and we may have made out downstairs a couple hours ago, but I still know nothing about him, a fact he obviously doesn't want to change anytime soon. His reluctance over sharing his past is a massive red flag; he's hiding something, something potentially very bad.

"Kaila…" James trails off, gazing at me helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," I whisper back, voice growing stronger as I continue. "But you must understand why I'm wary right now. I've practically spilled my guts to you. I've told you things that are extremely personal and hard to talk about and you've given me nothing in return. I'm completely vulnerable to you, James, but when I ask a simple question about your life you immediately shut down. Kinda fishy, right?"

He runs a hand through his hair, bringing to attention that once again, his left hand is gloved. It has been all night, but I've just been too heart-eyed to worry about it. I gesture to his hand. "Like that. I've noticed you wear a glove on your left hand every time I see you, though I've been kind enough not to point it out. C'mon James, real talk. Why?"

James stands suddenly, pacing back and forth across my living room, both hands tangling in his hair. His walk is quick and agitated, distress radiating through his body. I know I'm poking at things he doesn't want to talk about, but I'm so wrapped up in my own frustration that I don't even care. I know I'm being selfish, but I keep talking anyway.

"Okay, so maybe you can't answer that question either. But fucking hell, James, can't you tell me anything besides your full name?" I resist the urge to tug my hands through my own hair.

He shakes his head, still pacing, muttering incoherently under his breath.

"Where did you move back to New York from?" No response.

"Where'd you go to school?" Barely a reaction.

"What do you do for a living?" Nothing.

"For God's sake, how about something as simple as your fucking birthday?!"

James stops suddenly in front of the couch, throwing his arms out wide. "March 10th, 1917! There! Are you fucking happy now?!"

A deafening silence fills the room. I don't know if it lasts one minute, five, or an entire hour. My brain works frantically, trying to piece together the impossible information he just threw at me.

"Did you say…" My voice breaks, unable to get the year out. A hundred years ago. He just said he was born a hundred years ago, yet here he stands before me no older than thirty.

"Yeah," he replies. He's speaking at a normal volume now, shoulders slumping as he sags back onto my couch. He's defeated, dejected, all the tension and anger forced right out of him. He's not a man I'm afraid of anymore; instead, I see an intense pain and sadness in his eyes that I've never noticed before.

"How?" Is all I can squeak out.

James turns his head to me, staring at me with dead eyes. "You really want to know?"

I nod. "I want to understand."

So he tells me, starting from the very beginning. It's the most information I've ever heard about him and I hang on to every word, never interrupting. He describes growing up during the Great Depression and becoming friends with skinny, small Steve Rogers. I hear about his enlistment in the U.S. army during WWII, and fighting alongside Captain America with the Howling Commandos. He recalls his fall from the train, voice finally breaking, eyes shining slightly. He gazes down at his hands resting on his knees, playing with the fabric of his black glove.

I stare at him in shock. "You're James Buchanan Barnes. I'm an idiot. I knew I heard your name before because I read it in a history book. You're Captain America's best friend."

He nods slowly, hair hiding his face. "Yup. That's pretty much what I just said."

I frown at his dry response, but can't stop myself from continuing. "But…you died."

James scoffs, looking back up at me. "Obviously not."

I don't like this James. He's cold, hard, unattached. Nothing like the man I was curled up against maybe thirty minutes before. I know I've played a part in making him act this way tonight, but I also know his demeanor goes above and beyond any of my influence. I've simply peeled back a layer of his obviously complex personality.

James exhales heavily, eyes still focused intently on my face. "Well? Aren't you going to kick me out now?"

I shake my head, confused. "Why would I do that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. You've just found out I'm old enough to be your grandfather."

I chuckle slightly despite myself. "Well, I happen to have a fondness for history."

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, giving me hope that tonight could still take a positive turn. "I'm really happy you told me. I can't even imagine the weight of carrying this around."

James exhales heavily. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to tell you." He furrows his eyebrows. "You're taking this surprisingly well."

I shrug. "The whole world knows about Captain America coming here from the past. What's another guy added to the mix?"

He laughs softly. "Yeah, I guess stranger things have happened." He glances at the empty space next to me on the couch. "Can I…" He gestures his hands.

I nod, patting the space next to me. "Of course."

James moves so our knees are touching, holding his left hand out in front of him. I stare at it, confused. He jerks his chin towards his gloved hand. "Go on. Take it off."

I glance up at him in shock. "What?"

"Take it off," he repeats.

I carefully take the black fabric into my hand, gently pulling it off of his fingers. I'm met with shining metal in the place of where his hand and wrist should be. Without thinking I push up the sleeve of his shirt, running my fingers over his metal forearm, stopping at the crook of his elbow. My eyes meet his, him looking back hesitantly.

"I lost my arm when I fell off the train," he explains. "This is what I'm left with."

"Does it…is it your entire arm?"

James stares at me for a second, obviously mulling over something in his mind. The next thing I know he's bringing his hands to the hem of his shirt. "No," I protest. "You don't have to—" But he pulls his shirt off his torso before I can finish.

James sits before me bare-chested, eyes focused on my face. In any other circumstance I would appreciate his sculpted abs and pectoral muscles, but I can only stare at his left arm. Or, the replacement for his left arm.

The metal is as muscular as his right arm, shining slightly in the lamplight. I'm impressed by the obviously advanced mechanism, though my eyes are drawn to the place where metal meets flesh. My breath hitches slightly at the scar tissue surrounding his left shoulder, resisting the urge to run my palm against the skin; I don't think he'd appreciate me doing that.

Our eyes connect and I hate the insecurity I see there. He's watching my every reaction, waiting to see what I will do. "See?" James mutters. "I told you I'm not perfect."

I frame his face in my palms, rubbing my thumbs gently against the rough stubble there. "You're still the same to me."

James scoffs. "How can that even be possible?"

I shrug. "I don't know. But honestly, you telling me this makes me care even more about you. I mean, no wonder you didn't tell me anything about your past; that's a lot of heavy stuff. It all makes so much sense now." I smile at him gently.

He gives me a weak smile back. "I can't even tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that."

I continue to hold his face in my hands, leaning in for a soft kiss on the lips. It's so quick he barely has time to react, though I feel his lips curve upward slightly at the contact.

"Do you think we'll be alright?" James murmurs.

I move one hand off his cheek to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I hope so."

James smiles lazily back at me. "I hope so too."

I chuckle slightly, stroking his hair. "I can't believe you're from the World War II era. That's literally my area of expertise, though you probably know more than I do. Are you prepared to help me with homework now?"

James snorts. "I don't know about that. My memories are pretty fuzzy."

"That's alright," I respond, still admiring his face with my fingers. I grin wryly. "Here I was, afraid you were some crazy murderer or something."

Panic flashes behind his eyes and I immediately pull away, my entire body turning cold. "James?"

He stares steadily back at me, eyes flooding with guilt. I'm not always the best at reading people, but James' emotions are clear as day across his face. My simple joke has hit home.

"James." My voice cracks slightly. "What else aren't you telling me?"

I'm caught off guard by the sight of his eyes slowly filling with tears. James blinks, looking away, brushing a hand across his face. Standing he pulls his shirt back on, refusing to make eye contact with me. My heart is pounding, head spinning. There is another part of this story, something he hasn't told me. His past goes beyond being a WWII veteran frozen in ice; there's something dark there that I'm not sure I want to know about.

"I can't tell you," James mutters. "I thought I could tell you, but I can't. I won't be able to stand the look on your face once you know."

I swallow hard, entire body tingling with fear. "Once I know what? You can't just drop this on me without explaining. My imagination will always be worse than the truth."

James spins back around to face me, eyes tinged red. "Nothing could be worse than the truth, I promise you that."

"Okay, but…" Tears are starting to gather in my eyes, anxiety rising in my throat. "You speaking in riddles is scaring me way more than if you just told me."

"You're never going to want to see me again," James mumbles, more to himself than me. "Sam was right. This is a mistake, this is all a huge fucking mistake. I don't know what I was thinking telling you about all of this. You'll hate me."

I stand up, stalking over to him, tears coursing steadily down my cheeks now. "What I hate right now is that you're still dancing around this. Tell me what the hell is going on!"

James stares at me, shaking his head. "You'll never forgive me."

"Dammit James, fucking tell me!"

"I was an assassin!" He yells, entire body shaking.

For the second time that evening silence blankets the room, pressing down heavily on both of us.

I take a step back, unsure of what to say.

James exhales. "I'm responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, most of them innocent. I murdered people who didn't deserve to die, people who are just like you. Steve, he's a hero. He's here to make the world a better place. I'm…" He trails off. I can only stand there, listening in horrified fascination.

"I don't know why I'm here. But I've spent the last seventy years making people's lives worse and you know what? I'm good at it. I'm good at killing people — it's easy for me. I'm stronger than them, I'm faster than them, and no one can escape me once I decide to kill them. I'm a monster, Kaila. And you should want nothing to do with me."

I gaze up at him, taking in his tense stance and clenched jaw. Despite his steely appearance, I don't miss the hurt still in his eyes. Despite his words, I don't believe he's a monster that enjoys killing. There's a defensiveness there, a need to frighten me so I'll leave him alone of my own accord. I know exactly what he's doing, because it's something I've done in the past when confronted with my alcoholism. I see all this and I feel his agony, but I also can't look at him right now. Him wanting to push me away hurts more than his confession.

"Please leave," I croak out. "I need…I need time to think."

James nods. "That's a good decision. I'm not safe for you to be around, anyway. You're a smart girl, Kaila; you should be afraid of me."

A flash of anger rises in me and I stalk across the kitchen, holding the door open for him. He collects his things, walking towards the doorway. As he enters the hall, I can't help but yell after him.

"By the way, stop trying to scare me off. I'm a historian; let me do my own research and come to my own conclusions."

With that I slam the door, leaving him standing by himself in the hallway.

I stare at the closed door, mulling over whether or not I should slide the deadbolt into place. Deciding against it, I walk into my room and crawl into bed with my laptop.

It may be past midnight, but I have a lot of work to do.


	9. Chapter 8: Gray Areas

*Kaila's POV*

History is a narrative of multiple perspectives and biases. If there's one thing my major has drilled into my head, it's that.

All of recorded history comes from human opinion. Of course there are cold hard facts like dates and statistics, but the numbers aren't what actually shape history. It's the way people interpret and react to events that makes history interesting and such a complex subject to study. For example, was it a good idea for the United States to drop the atomic bombs in Japan? There are strong arguments for both sides. Was Franklin Delano Roosevelt a great president? Again, various opinions, all extremely valid. Even historical atrocities like slavery and the Holocaust, which are very black and white to most morally minded people, have those with differing points of view. There were people who fought for slavery, there were people who followed Hitler. We all know how wrong they were today, but their opinions are still a crucial consideration when understanding the historical narrative.

There will never be complete unanimous opinion on anything in history, which is why it's so important to keep an open mind, always ask questions, and do your own research before coming to your own conclusions. I'm a history major; I refuse to be told how to interpret any topic, which is why I prefer to do my own digging.

I've barely slept all weekend, spending my entire Sunday glued to my laptop. I start off simple, typing in 'James Buchanan Barnes' and reading everything I can find on him. It's mostly basic stuff, the all-American soldier who was best friends with Captain America until his heroic death. I've already read all this; what I need to know is what happened after he died. Or, apparently, didn't die.

Since my Bucky Barnes search leads me nowhere, I switch over to Captain America. I know his story front to back; skinny kid with a big heart and a lot of bravery is turned into America's first super soldier. I skim through his part in the Avengers and the events in New York and Washington D.C., feeling stupid once I find Sam's name online as well. I should have recognized him as the Falcon when I met him.

My Captain America research leads me to the Sokovia Accords, recently enacted, the documents which caused friction between the Avengers and nearly tore them apart. I reread the article on the bombing in Vienna during the signing of the Accords and the death of the Wakandan king. Again, I know all of this. Until something in particular catches my eye: the Winter Soldier.

Frowning I squint at the screen, staring at the fuzzy picture targeting the Winter Soldier as the cause of the bombing. I vaguely remember hearing that name before, but wrote it off once it was confirmed he was not behind the attack. But that picture…it looks like James.

Excitement bubbles in my chest over my new lead, and I type the name into the search bar. Once I hit enter and the options load, I'm completely overwhelmed. There are dates and missing person articles all connecting back to this mysterious Winter Soldier. When I click on the first link, a picture loads at the top of the page, blurry, but showing a masked man with an entirely metal left arm.

I think I've found him.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

"Kaila! I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute."

I jerk slightly, realizing that my head is starting to slide from it's resting place on my palm.

Lora frowns at me. "Look at you. When's the last time you slept?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Friday night?"

"It's Tuesday."

I run my palms over my face. "Right. So it's been awhile."

Lora takes a bite of her sandwich, shaking her head. We're sitting outside our favorite deli, taking advantage of the beautiful March weather. It's starting to consistently warm up now, leaving us both in rolled up jeans and light sweaters. I want to appreciate the nice weather and the amazing food in front of me, but I can only think longingly of my bed.

"So why haven't you been sleeping?" Lora asks. "Literally the last you've told me about your personal life is that you kissed James after the date, and then nothing. You left me hanging. What's going on between you two?"

I snort. "Who knows?"

"Was he a good kisser?"

I glare at her, taking a large bite of my sandwich. "Yes," I grumble, mouth full.

"Did you have a good time?"

I attack my sandwich again. "Yeah, until I was dumb enough to invite him over and everything went to shit."

Lora's eyes widen. "Did you two sleep together?"

I slam my BLT down, rolling my eyes. "Jeez, no! I'm still getting over a dead fiancé, remember? I'm not going to hook up with the first guy I've kissed in a year."

Lora's face crumples slightly, obviously hurt.

I exhale, immediately feeling guilty. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling. I'm just exhausted, okay? It's been a crazy last few days."

She nods sympathetically. "It's just that you usually tell me everything. And obviously a lot is going on right now, so what's up?"

I sigh. "Things between James and I ended badly on Saturday. Information came up that hasn't come up before and we got into an argument. It's actually really complicated and way over my head."

She shrugs. "We have plenty of time."

"See, but I don't know if I can tell you yet. I need to do some more research."

"Research? On what?"

I take another large bite of my BLT, shrugging. Fuck it. At this point, I don't care if she knows. "The Winter Soldier."

Lora sits back in her seat, setting her Philly Cheesesteak on her plate. "The Hydra assassin? Why?"

I swallow my sandwich too quickly, coughing and grabbing water as the not-fully chewed bacon scratches my throat. "Wait, you know about him?" I sputter between sips.

She nods. "Yeah, he was primarily based in places like Russia and Siberia. Why?"

I slap a hand against my forehead. "Oh my god, you specialize in Russian history. I completely forgot."

Lora stares at me warily. "Okay, I don't know what's going on with you, but I'll ask again; why are you suddenly so interested in the Winter Soldier? He's old news."

I sigh, mulling over options in my head. It probably wouldn't be that big of a deal to tell Lora about James being the Winter Soldier. With her knowledge of Russian history, she could probably help me. Sure I'm breaking James' trust, but Lora is my best friend, and he and I aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. My loyalty is to Lora first, and I need her in order to stay sane right now.

"I think James is the Winter Soldier."

Lora's brow furrows. "Come again?"

"James is the Winter Soldier. Or at least, I'm ninety-nine percent sure he is. I know he's Bucky Barnes, you know, like Captain America's Bucky Barnes, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure that Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier too. So that means they're the same person. James, Bucky, and the Winter Soldier are all the same person."

Lora blinks at me. "That literally made no sense. Start from the beginning."

So I do.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I walk briskly down the hallway towards Dr. Branch's office, hoping that he's still on campus. After I told Lora everything I know, she immediately suggested going to Dr. Branch, as he's apparently doing academic research on the use of the Winter Soldier by Hydra. I recall his previous article on Captain America and the use of super soldiers during World War II, so I guess it makes sense that he's now moving on to super soldiers during the Cold War and beyond. At this point, I feel like the only person in the history department who _doesn't_ know about the Winter Soldier. Some historian I am.

Lora took the information very well. Of course she sputtered for a few seconds about how I live across the hall from a highly skilled assassin ("You slept in his bed! You wore his clothes! You _kissed_ him!") but she got over it pretty quickly. According to her past research, the Winter Soldier was a brainwashed killing machine kept frozen in cryostasis until needed for a mission. Once the mission was completed, he'd have his mind wiped and be put back under. "He's a victim in my opinion," she explained, which I quickly jumped on to. I may be waiting to make any decisions until I've finished my research, but hope swells in my chest at any chance of James' innocence.

I knock quickly on the wooden door, hearing a faint "come in" from the other side. Opening the door I peek my head in, seeing the bearded man sitting at his desk. He waves his hand, gesturing for me to come forward, and I shut the door gently behind me.

Dr. Branch's office is small and cozy, neat bookshelves stacked against one brown striped wall, with his desk pushed against the other. Picture frames are hung in even rows, showing who I assume are his wife and kids. A small tea pot sits on a round table in the corner of the room, with an assortment of multi-colored mugs surrounding it. A wide window graces the wall behind his desk, allowing some early evening light to stream through. It's a typical professor-like office, one I can hopefully see myself having in a couple years' time.

"Kaila," Dr. Branch smiles, taking off his glasses. "How nice to see you. Do you have questions about our lecture today? I know nationalism and nazism can be a lot to process."

I shake my head, having perfectly understood the notes from this afternoon's class. "No, actually, though I do have some questions for you. I'm curious about the research you're doing on your own, specifically the article you're writing about the Winter Soldier." I figure getting right to the point is best.

"Ah." Dr. Branch leans back in his seat, hands folded across the front of his blazer. "Yes. The most difficult work I've ever done, if I do say so myself. What would you like to know?"

I sigh, sinking down into the plush armchair in front of his desk. "I'm curious what your thesis is for the article."

He makes a 'hm' sound, thoughtfully twiddling his thumbs. "It's interesting that you ask; I don't quite know myself what my thesis is yet."

I frown. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you able to focus your research without a thesis?"

Dr. Branch chuckles. "I ask myself that every day. See, this Winter Soldier isn't like Captain America; Captain America is a clear and defined hero, a poster boy for American values and beliefs. The Winter Soldier though…well, I'm not sure yet what he is."

"What are your options?"

He smiles slightly. "Monster or man. In my opinion, at least."

I swallow, throat going dry. I hate the term 'monster' being thrown around in relation to James. "Couldn't he be both? Or doesn't 'man' itself suggest monstrous qualities?"

Dr. Branch purses his lips. "Perhaps. Evidence points very strongly in both directions. He was a killer, a brutal murderer, yet he was controlled and brainwashed by Hydra the entire time. My goal right now is just to connect the dots between charming James Barnes and dangerous Winter Soldier, to demonstrate how he went from Point A to Point B."

"So they are the same person."

"Yes, absolutely." Dr. Branch squints at me. "Why are you suddenly so interested in this article? I always appreciate students looking into my work of course, but I must say, this isn't usually your type of topic to pursue."

I shrug, trying to come up with a valid reason on the spot. "Well, James Buchanan Barnes is from my time era, so to speak. I guess I've read so much on Steve Rogers that I'm ready to look into another type of historical figure. Sometimes anti-heroes are just as fascinating, if not more so, than typical heroes."

"You consider the Winter Soldier an anti-hero?"

I bite my lip, thinking about the James I know. The man I've met isn't a bad man, despite what he said Saturday night. I've seen a gentle side of him, a caring side, maybe even a loving side. I don't believe he's pure evil or some senseless murderer. "Yes, I think he is. He's not black and white; he's gray. Like all humans, if we're being honest. Everyone has—" I swallow hard, reflecting on my own gray area. "Everyone has demons they wrestle with; some are just more pronounced than others. "

Dr. Branch smiles, scratching the mole on his left cheek. "Well, I couldn't agree more with that statement. How interested are you in learning more about the Winter Soldier?"

"Very. I think he's intriguing, and as you said, a fresh new topic for me to look into."

Dr. Branch nods slowly, appraising me as I talk. "Well. Perhaps you would like to officially look further into his 'grayness', so to speak."

My eyebrows furrow slightly. "I'm not sure I understand…"

"Would you like to join me in my research? As I said before, it's the most difficult topic I've ever tackled. I could use another brain on board, especially one like yours."

I gape, at a loss for words. "Um…" I stare at the middle-aged man, searching for the proper thing to say. "Of course I would. Dr. Branch, I'm so honored that you've asked me. Though…" I hesitate.

"Yes?" Dr. Branch presses gently, eyeing me with amusement.

"I know you don't have a thesis yet. And..."

"Do you have one in mind?"

I nod. "I think I do. But I don't want to overstep my boundaries, of course. I'm willing to follow whatever line of research you think is best."

Dr. Branch purses his lips, and I have a split second's fear that he'll retract his offer. He's the one with the PhD here, not me. I'm sure the last thing he wants is some grad student taking over a project that clearly belongs to him. "Well, I see this project more as a partnership than a dictatorship. How do you think we should frame the story of the Winter Soldier?"

I exhale slowly, resisting the urge to play with my fingers. "I want to prove that the Winter Soldier's a man." I hold Dr. Branch's gaze. "Not a monster."

Dr. Branch stares back at me expressionlessly. "And this is the man responsible for assassinating JFK and Howard Stark," he replies, rocking back in his seat.

I stare at him wide-eyed, having not known James' part in such devastating deaths.

A smile spreads slowly across Dr. Branch's face. "We have a lot of work to do then, don't we?"

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I leave Dr. Branch's office an hour later, the sun just barely beginning to set over the New York skyline. It casts a peaceful orange glow on the city, reminding me of how beautiful my home truly is. In just the right lighting at just the right time, New York City is picture perfect. It's times like these when I forget the bustling crowds and car choked streets, focusing solely on the blip of the sun against the towering buildings and the feeling of contentment that washes over me.

While I'm enraptured by the sunset, my excitement also stems from the manila envelope of documents in my hand. After briefly discussing the pros and cons of portraying the Winter Soldier as a sympathetic anti-hero, Dr. Branch printed out the notes he's already collected for me to go over and catch up with where he's at in his research. I'm ecstatic at the opportunity to do big time academic writing with a highly regarded professor, though selfishly I'm more interested in learning about James' past and proving that he's a good man. I guess I've made up my mind where I stand: I refuse to be frightened of James, regardless of what he's done.

Biting my lip, I run through a mental list of what I know:

1). James Buchanan Barnes, my neighbor, is both Captain America's best friend and the Winter Soldier.

2). After he fell off the train he was found by Soviets, given a metal arm, and molded into a skilled assassin.

3). Staying in cryostasis between missions is what slowed down his aging.

4). He had no idea what he was doing during missions, as he was completely controlled by Hydra.

The last point is the most important to me, as it fully proves that James isn't responsible for the horrors committed. However, despite the little knowledge I've gathered, I still have a million questions I want answered.

I frown thoughtfully as an idea strikes me, staring down at my contacts list and impulsively pressing one of the names. Holding my phone to my ear I wait through a couple rings, crossing my fingers that he'll answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sam." I sigh in relief. "This is Kaila."

Sam chuckles. "Yes, I know who you are. We exchanged numbers, remember? _Exchanged_ means I have yours too."

I roll my eyes. "Alright smart-ass. I'm actually calling you about something serious."

"Then shoot."

"I know the truth about James' past, from World War II to being the Winter Soldier. And I have a lot of questions."

I'm met with brief silence over the phone, broken only by Sam's sigh.

I wait, chewing the nails of my left hand. "Well?"

"Stay where you are, I'm coming to pick you up. I am not the right person for you to talk to about this."

I frown. "Then why are you coming to get me?"

"Because I'm taking you to the person who is."


	10. Chapter 9: America's Hero

*Kaila's POV*

I glance in the rearview mirror at myself again, ensuring for the thousandth time that my hair is in place and I don't have something between my teeth, or God forbid, hanging from my nose. Sam makes eye contact with me in the mirror and I quickly look away, face warming.

He smirks. "You know Cap's not going to care what you look like."

I shrug, pushing my hair back behind my ear. "So? This is my first time meeting him; I care."

Sam just shakes his head, laughing softly. "Have it your way. But I'm telling you, he's not worth all the stress. He's just a normal guy; if anything, you're probably cooler than he is."

I snort. "Okay."

"Seriously. The dude's a loser."

I turn my head to gape at him jokingly. "Did you just _insult_ the great Captain America?"

Sam lifts his fingers slightly off the steering wheel in response. "What can I say? I know him pretty well by now and I promise you, Steve is a total dork."

I roll my eyes, chuckling. "Well, I'll make the final call on that once I meet—"

My sentence is cut off as Sam suddenly slams the brakes to avoid hitting a small Subaru that abruptly pulls out in front of us. Sam brings his hand down on the horn, honking a couple times for good measure, but I can only sit in the seat silently, right hand wrapped tightly around the overhead handle. My heart is going a million miles a minute and my throat closes up. I feel like I've been doused in ice; my skin prickles uncomfortably and all breath has left my body.

"Asshole," Sam mutters under his breath. "Some people just don't know how to drive. Ridiculous." He glances over at me but I continue to stare straight ahead. "Hey, Kaila. Hey. Are you alright?"

I nod my head slightly, then shake it back and forth. "I…" I clear my throat to get the words out. "I kinda have a thing with cars."

Sam frowns. "What do you mean a _thing_?'

I shrug, voice getting stronger as I speak. "I was in a car accident about a year ago. It's kinda fucked me up as far as driving goes."

Sam stays silent, contemplating what I just said. I can't help but compare his (nonexistent) reaction to my f-bomb versus James' on Saturday night. When I make small connections like that, it's so obvious that the two men grew up in different time periods. I still feel like an idiot for not realizing sooner and figuring it out on my own. I'm a damn history major. _Really_.

"Were you driving?" asks Sam finally.

I nod. "Yeah."

He sighs deeply. "Have you driven since? Like, actually driven. Not just ridden as a passenger."

I shake my head. "Uh-uh. I don't think I can drive again. Not after that."

"Have you seen anyone about your PTSD?"

I turn to look at him in surprise. "My what?"

Sam keeps his eyes pointedly on the road, an action I appreciate. Even though he speaks to me, he refuses to look over; I know it's for my comfort, and I feel a sudden surge of warmth towards him. "Your Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You don't need to be a veteran to experience it."

"Oh." I glance out the window, watching the buildings blur by. "Um…not really. I mean, I go to Alcoholics Anonymous, because as you now know, I'm trying to work on my drinking habit. But no, I've never really thought about having…other issues. I guess like you've said, I've only considered it to be something soldiers deal with."

"Well," Sam clears his throat. "As a guy who's spent a lot of time working with people with PTSD, I know the symptoms. You're anxious in a vehicle, you haven't driven since, and you just went into a bit of panic there when that car pulled out in front of us. Your alcoholism is important, and it should be your priority, but don't neglect other parts of your mental health."

I stare at him in awe. "And I thought you were just brawn."

He laughs. "Baby, I'm brain _and_ brawn."

I roll my eyes, not able to help the smile that spreads across my face. I like Sam; his personality is infectious and he's fun to be around, yet he has a steadiness that makes me feel like I can tell him anything and he'll not only listen, but will take me seriously.

"So you've worked with people with PTSD, huh?" I ask, tugging at my fingers.

He nods. "Yeah, I used to. But then the Avengers gig got kinda serious, so. Why?"

I sigh. "Do you think you could help me with it?"

Sam smiles slightly. "Of course. We could chat right now for the next—" He glances at the clock on the dashboard. "—fifteen minutes before we arrive at the Avengers Compound."

I nod, swallowing nervously. "Alright. Where should I start?"

"Just tell me what happened. And then we can go from there."

I don't know why, but I tell him everything about the accident, not holding back any piece of information. I describe the screeching tires and flashing headlights, and the gut-wrenching crunch of a body flying through a windshield. I draw images of razor sharp glass slicing my face and an airbag knocking all the wind from my body. I told James I was in a car accident and lost someone, but this is different. I'm giving Sam details I haven't described in a year, remembering each moment, even down to standing over Jamie's broken form on the asphalt (though I don't say his name). I'm deadly calm throughout the retelling, surprising even myself. It isn't until we pull into the driveway of the Compound that I taste the saltiness of silent tears on my lips.

Once Sam puts the car in park and turns the ignition off he turns to face me, taking my left hand in his right. "You don't usually talk about this, huh?"

I shake my head.

Sam smiles sympathetically, holding my gaze. "I'm glad you told me. It's uh…" He nods his head slowly, lost in thought. "It's hard to lose someone like that — to wonder if you could have saved them. Believe me, I know the feeling. All I can tell you right now is that it's not your fault. Accidents happen; that's why they call them _accidents_. None of that was your fault."

I nod, rubbing my cheeks roughly to stop the tears. "I know. I just wish I could talk about it without crying. I can't even talk about _him_ without falling apart, even if it's good stuff."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. Everyone deals with trauma differently. You're not expected to just jump back from an incident like this, especially when you've lost someone as a result." His thumb runs soothingly over my hand. "The more you talk about it, the easier it'll get to wrap your head around. The more you suppress it, the more it'll eat you up inside. Do you get nightmares?"

I shrug, still wiping my face with my free hand. "Sometimes. But they're not as bad as they used to be."

Sam nods. "Well, that's a good sign." The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "We'll get you driving again, Kaila."

I swallow. "What if I don't want to?"

"I respect that." Our dark eyes stay trained on each other. "But I think the more fear you're able to overcome, the more you can recover. You got some stuff going on Kaila; addiction, PTSD, grief, that's all a lot to deal with. Fortunately, I know a good amount about those things, so I'm always available to help you out."

Sam purses his lips, eyebrows creased. "But if we're being real, your biggest resource is the guy across the hall from you. He knows even more than I do."

I shake my head. "James and I aren't speaking right now."

Sam shrugs. "I know. He told me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? What'd he say?"

"That he scared you off."

I snatch my hand out of Sam's, rolling my eyes. " _That's_ what he said? Well, that's a load of shit."

Sam chuckles. "Before I met you I would've believed him. But when he told me on Sunday…I don't know. I didn't buy it. He pushed you away, didn't he?"

I furrow my eyebrows, staring intently at Sam. "It's scary how well you know him."

"You think I'm scary? Wait until you hear Steve talk about him. They know each other like the back of their hands. Now _that_ is scary." Sam grins at me. "And speaking of which, it's time for us to get inside if you're ready. Your eyes aren't red anymore, so don't worry about that, and you look great. Are you excited to meet America's hero?"

I inhale, then exhale forcefully. "Are you sure I look okay? Like I didn't just break down in the front seat of your car?"

"If I didn't know, I wouldn't be able to tell." Sam pats my shoulder. "You sure you're good, though? We can wait a few more minutes for you to unwind."

"I'm fine," I reply honestly. "I actually feel a bit lighter. Thanks for listening, Sam."

Sam grins. "I'm actually a pretty good listener when given the chance." The smile leaks slowly off his face and he eyes me warily. "Hey, but there is one more thing before we go inside."

I raise my eyebrows.

He clears his throat. "You know, you're about to learn a lot about Bucky, and it's gonna be heavy stuff. Just remember the guy you know now, alright? The things Steve might tell you…well, just keep in mind who Buck is now. He's not the Winter Soldier anymore."

I frown. "I'm not going to run away screaming if that's what you're worried about. James doesn't scare me, and anything I learn about him isn't going to scare me either."

Sam nods. "No, I believe you, but I just wanted to give you a head's up. You're messed up, I'm messed up, hell, even Steve has all sorts of issues. But…the Winter Soldier? His story will…well, it'll put a lot of things into perspective."

"Okay," I respond decisively, opening my side door. "Let's go."

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

I've read about the Avengers' compound in the newspaper, I've seen images of it on tv, but nothing compares to walking through the door. It's gigantic, to start, resting on acres of beautiful green land. The inside is open, bright, airy, and almost feels bigger than the outside. The moon streams through the large glass-paned windows, illuminating the already lit up entry way. I could spend hours exploring this place, and probably see only half of it.

"Does Captain America know I'm coming?" I half-whisper.

Sam rolls his eyes at me. "You can call him Steve. And yes, of course he does."

I glance nervously at the staircase. "Is anyone else here?"

Sam shrugs. "I think Tony and Pepper are out of town, which is good for you, since Tony can be a lot to handle. Nat and Wanda are probably upstairs, Vision and Rhodey too, but I doubt you'll see them. Everyone at this point has settled in, just kinda doing their own thing."

I nod. "Okay. And you live here too?"

He grins. "Yes I do. It's a pretty sweet deal."

I arch an eyebrow. "Rent free?"

Sam gives me a funny look. "I save the world alongside a billionaire. Damn right it's rent free. C'mon." He nods his head towards the stairs, leading me up to an open living room area. There are couches, televisions, wide windows, and of course, a full bar. I clear my throat in discomfort, but am soon distracted by the man rising from the leather couch in front of us.

He's as handsome as the pictures, blonde haired, blue eyed, with perfectly chiseled facial features. His muscular chest and arms strain against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and when he walks towards us I admire the rippling of his abs under the cotton. He's gorgeous, a war hero, and a superhero. Plus, he's a true gentleman. What's not to love?

"Kaila," Captain America says in greeting, stretching his hand out. I take it, allowing his palm to completely engulf mine. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

I nod. "Likewise. I've read so much about you. It's truly an honor, Captain." I can see Sam shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. _Whatever. I can fangirl as much as I please._

"Well, I appreciate that. And you can just call me Steve."

Sam mouths 'I told you so' at me, but I ignore him.

Steve smiles, releasing my hand. "Though—" He gestures for me to sit on the couch across from him. "—I wish we were here under better circumstances."

I sink onto the couch, Sam next to me. "Me too."

Steve sighs, glancing at Sam. "Sam told me you have a lot of questions. I hope I can help answer whatever you need to know."

I swallow. "If I'm being honest, I don't really know where to start. I know about James' past with you and I know after his fall Hydra turned him into the Winter Soldier. I guess I'm curious as to where he stands right now."

"Well," Steve clasps his hands, forearms resting on his knees. "We were able to find him, which wasn't easy. He had been on the run for awhile, trying to regain his memories. We experienced a lot of complications along the way, but he ultimately decided that he wanted to go under cryo to get the Winter Soldier taken out. There were people who tried to use him against the Avengers, and he didn't want to be a risk to anyone anymore. The operation was successful, so now there's no possible way for him to become controlled like that again. He works with the Avengers, he fights on our side, and he's just trying to fit his way back into a normal life."

I frown. "Then why did he tell me was a murderer? If he can no longer be manipulated by Hydra why did he make it sound like that part of him still exists?"

Steve sighs, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "And this is where things get complicated." He sighs again, making eye contact with Sam before meeting my gaze. "He's filled with more guilt than you, or I, or anyone, could possibly understand."

"But he must know it wasn't his fault," I counter. "He was controlled by Hydra. There was no way he could have stopped them."

Steve shrugs. "He knows. But it doesn't matter to him; he partly blames himself for everything that's happened. He lost all his memories when Hydra froze him, so he didn't know exactly what he had done, but now they're finally starting to come back. He can remember everyone he's killed."

I put a hand over my mouth. "Oh my god."

Steve nods. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "I have my best friend back, and don't get me wrong, I still see that guy from Brooklyn. He's in there, I know he is. But now…as I'm sure you can imagine, he's got some serious demons. The worst part is that there's not much I can do to help him."

I nod, sympathy welling up at the sight of Steve's drawn face. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that's like for the two of you. You must have missed him so much."

Steve grins slightly. "Of course. He's the best friend I've ever had, along with this guy right here." He nods at Sam, who smiles back. "I understand him better than I do myself and vice versa. He knows things about me that I'd never tell anyone else. A bond like that…we're with each other through it all."

Steve's face softens as he eyes me. I resist the urge to squirm under his appraisal, suddenly reminded of my untamed hair and lumpy body. I hope he's not wondering what his best friend sees in me. "You know, Bucky cares a lot about you. I've never seen him so excited about anyone before."

My stomach flips upside down and my face burns. "Yeah, well. I don't know what happened there." I run a hand over my face in frustration. "I just don't get it. Why would James push me away? Maybe it's stupid, but I thought he and I had a pretty great relationship. I mean we…" My face reddens, recalling his soft lips on mine and the warm pressure of his hands on my back. "We…could be something. And he pushed me away after telling me the truth."

I glance up at Steve, still self-conscious under his intense blue gaze. "I've told him a lot about myself, things I've barely told anyone. I have uh," I scratch my head. "Problems that I've been transparent about. I won't delude myself into thinking they're on the same scale as his, but I thought we were able to share things with one another." I lift my hands, letting them fall back into my lap. "I'm just confused, that's all. I don't understand why he tried to scare me off."

Steve frowns. "He told me you kicked him out after he told you the truth."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, because I was so pissed!" Steve winces, which further irritates me. _These men and their old-fashioned ways_. "He was trying to tell me how to feel about the situation, telling me that if I were smart, I'd be scared of him. I hate being told what to think about something. I _hate_ it. So yeah, that's why I made him leave. I couldn't listen to that anymore, and I had a lot to think about."

"And what do you think now?" Steve asks.

"I think he's an amazing person, a person that I want to continue to foster a relationship with and get to know better. I also think he's a victim, and that he needs to be supported, not condemned."

I sit up a little straighter in my seat, lifting my chin. "I'm actually working with a professor at Columbia on a project about genetically modified soldiers, and the Winter Soldier is our topic—"

"Wait." Steve holds up his hands. "You're working with Dr. Branch on the Winter Soldier article?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Yes, I am. As of today, actually. How did you know about that?"

"Tony." Steve shares a concerned look with Sam. "He told us about a professor at Columbia who was looking into Bucky's story."

"…And that's a problem, why?" I question.

"We don't fully know if Dr. Branch can be trusted." Steve explains. "We're pretty protective right now as far as Bucky is concerned. He's…I don't want to say fragile, because he's not, but he's…I don't know…he's…"

"Just stick with fragile," Sam cuts in. "Maybe we'll think of something better later."

"I wouldn't worry about Dr. Branch," I say, ignoring Sam and holding Steve's gaze. "We're writing the article and conducting our research with the intent of portraying the Winter Soldier as an anti-hero, meaning he'll be a sympathetic figure for our readers. I won't let any harm come to him, I promise."

Steve nods. "I trust you. I know you care about him as much as I do."

"I really do," I reply. "I just wish he trusted me."

Steve shakes his head. "It's not about trust. Bucky doesn't feel like he deserves anything good in his life. He has more self-loathing than any of us could even imagine, and he lives with that hatred every single day. Sometimes," Steve's eyes shine slightly. "Sometimes I worry that if I hadn't found him, he wouldn't be here right now."

I blink a couple times, trying to process Steve's words. "You don't think he'd…kill himself, do you?"

Steve shrugs. "I hope he wouldn't. I don't think he would now, because I don't think he'd want to hurt me, but yeah, sometimes I worry about it. Or at least I did, until you came into the picture."

I sit back, putting a hand on my chest. "Me?"

Steve grins. "Yeah, you. I've never seen him happier than after the first day you two hung out and watched that World War II show. He couldn't stop talking about it."

I laugh softly at the memory. "Yeah, that really was a great day." I gaze down at my scuffed up Vans, then meet Steve's eye again. "I want to fight for him. I think he and I could have something really special, and…I want to be able to show him that he deserves a whole freakin' lot."

"I don't know if James told you, but he's taken care of me in times that I needed him most." I hold eye contact with Steve, hoping he can see the pure, raw emotion in my eyes. I need him to know I'm being genuine with my feelings for his best friend. "To me he's compassionate, and generous, and understanding. I feel safe with him, not because he's strong or anything, but because his presence naturally calms me. When I'm with James, I don't feel as broken. And I guess all I want is to make him feel the same way. I know he can't be fixed, but I think I can help him heal."

Steve beams at me, reaching across the coffee table to gently squeeze my hand. "I couldn't agree more."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few seconds until Steve asks, "I have to know, though. How did his past even come up? Weren't you two on a date?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh my god, it was the stupidest thing. He reacted weirdly to me saying 'fuck' and was all 'I'm not used to women speaking like that', which was super strange to me, and then it just spiraled from there."

Steve looks sheepish. "Well, it is hard to get used to."

"Oh my gosh," I resist the urge to fall back dramatically in my seat. "Not you too!"

Sam chimes in, chuckling. "Steve doesn't even swear himself. He hates it when anyone swears at all."

I laugh at the sight of Captain America, my icon, blushing. "I'm sorry!" He exclaims. "It was a different time, okay? We were all polite back then!"

"And sexist," I reply, arching an eyebrow.

Steve puts his hands up. "Okay, okay. I know. I know it wasn't perfect. Believe me, a lot has changed for the positive since then."

I wave a hand at him. "No need to explain yourself. I was just picking on you." I arch an eyebrow, grinning. "I know we're here for serious conversation about James, but I gotta ask…do you have any funny stories about him? Maybe things I can pick on him for later once we're back on good terms?"

Steve smirks at Sam. "I can see now why you two get along." He grins back at me. "Well, since you've asked…there was this one time when we went to Coney Island, and Bucky…"

I settle comfortably into my seat, smiling as I watch Steve animatedly describe past experiences of him and James. I love their friendship; it's so pure, loyal and steady until the very end. I can tell how much Steve loves his best friend just by the way he talks about him, and I'm sure if I asked James about Steve, he'd react similarly. Maybe they're not brothers by blood, but they're brothers just the same.

Now all I have to do is convince James that I can be someone for him to lean on, too.


	11. Chapter 10: Weekend Commute

Hello everyone! I'm sorry it's been such a long time since I've updated, but college has started up again and things have been nuts! This story will always continue and I won't be giving up on it, but I will ask for patience as far as updates go. School work comes first unfortunately, but this story will remain near the front of my mind. Here's a long chapter for you guys, which I hope you enjoy. Reviews are always welcome and I will respond to them :)

-Vccle10 xoxo

*Bucky's POV*

"If I could have everybody's attention, please." Steve taps a spoon against the side of his glass, effectively making everyone at the party turn to face him. They're spread out across the living room of the Compound, holding drinks and plates of food while mingling with one another. Steve stands by the bar, a central location where everyone can see him; I've chosen a part of the room further back, away from their stares.

"Thank you." Steve catches my eye, holding his drink out in front of him. "I would like to make a toast to the man of the hour, Bucky Barnes." Thanks to Steve's gesture, multiple heads turn back towards me, smiles stretched across their faces.

I shake my head, taking a sip of beer to hide the embarrassment on my face. It's bad enough they threw a party for me; I don't need a damn toast too.

"Today is Bucky's one-hundredth birthday. Let that sink in: _one-hundredth_. I've known this guy since he was awkward with acne, and let me tell you, a lot has changed since then. He also used to be stronger than me, and I think we all know by now that's no longer the case." Steve pauses for laughs, his blue eyes holding mine across the room. "Buck. I know life hasn't always dealt you the best cards, and you've been through more than anyone in this room combined. Despite everything that's happened, I'm here to remind you of all the amazing people surrounding you right now, people who all support and value you. Tonight is your night; we are here to celebrate you and the great man you have always been. You're the best friend I've ever had, and there is no one more deserving of happiness and health than you."

Steve clears his throat and lifts his glass higher, gazing around the room at large. "To Bucky, and the incredible life he has ahead of him."

"To Bucky," everyone else repeats, taking sips of their drinks as well.

Steve gives me a little nod and I nod back, face warming slightly at the attention and Steve's words. I'm still not used to having positive interactions with people, and I certainly don't remember the last time anyone celebrated my birthday. It's Wednesday, March 10, 2017. Just months ago I would have treated it like any other day, but not now. Now I'm surrounded by friends and acquaintances who are all here to celebrate the day I entered this messed up world. It's hard to believe that happened an entire century ago.

All the Avengers are here, even Peter, though I notice Tony watching him from the corner of his eye, ensuring that he stays away from the alcoholic drinks at the bar. The majority of people milling around the Compound are members of SHIELD or rich friends of Tony. A few World War II veterans showed up, though they didn't stay for long; they're maybe a few years younger than I am, though of course they actually look their age. Steve took the time to introduce me, as I apparently once knew some of them, but my memories are still hazy. Their brief presence only makes me sad, longing for a simpler time.

Luckily Steve chose the music, playing classic tunes from our time period. It keeps the atmosphere of the party relatively mellow, a far cry from the raging club I went to just four nights ago with Kaila, Sam, and Natalie. I shake my head at the unwelcome thought, trying not to think of the short dark-haired history student. Having her in my head hurts, especially because I wish she were here tonight. Her absence leaves a hole in my heart, one I realize is impossible for anyone else to fill.

"Hey." I look up as Sam takes a seat next to me, patting my shoulder as he does. "How's the birthday boy doing?"

I scoff. "'Boy?' I'm seventy years older than you. Show some respect for your elders."

He lifts his hands in defense. "Whoa, sorry Grandpa. I didn't realize you were so touchy in your old age."

I shake my head at him, still playing along. "It's just damn kids like you—always giving me a headache."

Sam smiles. "Hey, that's what I'm here for right? I piss you off, then Steve picks you up again. That's how the system works."

I grin slightly at him. "Yeah? I was wondering how that went; thanks for clearing it up."

"Anytime."

I rest my forearms on my knees, holding my beer between my palms. I watch everyone around me talking and eating, all dressed up and enjoying the company of others. Though I appreciate them all being here, there's only one person I want right now. I inhale deeply, letting it back out in one long breath.

"What's going on?" I don't have to look at Sam to know he's frowning.

I sigh again. "I wish she could've come tonight."

Sam settles back against the couch. "I offered to invite her, remember?"

I shrug. "I know. It's selfish of me to wish she was here though, because in reality she shouldn't even be around me."

Sam groans but I still stare at my beer, rolling it idly between my hands.

"Hey," Sam says. When I don't answer he tries again. " _Hey_. Look at me."

I turn my head to meet his eye.

"You need to knock it off with this shit, alright?"

I furrow my eyebrows at him. "What do you mean?"

Sam stares at me like I'm an idiot. "Are you kidding me? Ever since Saturday night you've been playing the whole 'woe-is-me' act and I'm sick of it. Bucky, _you're_ the one who pushed her away, not the other way around."

I shake my head. "No. She kicked me out, just like I thought she would. She's afraid of me."

I glare at him, voice raising slightly as I continue. "No girl wants an ex-assassin with a metal arm, remember? Those were _your_ words; I shouldn't have told her, but I did. And you were right. Everything we were building fell apart. Happy?"

"Oh my god." Sam runs his hands over his face. "First of all, that was terrible advice on my part and I own that. Second, of course I'm not happy, because as I hope you know, I generally have your best interests at heart. Lastly, I know the only reason Kaila kicked you out was because you were pissing her off, not because she was scared of you."

"Well, you say that," I reply calmly. "But you weren't there. You don't know how it happened."

"Actually, I do. Kaila told me that—" Sam immediately stops as I snap up in my seat.

I stare at him, wide-eyed. "You've talked to Kaila? Since Saturday? When?"

Sam doesn't say anything, eyeing me warily. I resist the urge to shake his shoulders. " _When_?"

He sighs in defeat. "Last night."

I frown. "Last night? I didn't hear anyone knock on her apartment door."

"Well that makes sense, given that she came here, to the Compound. I introduced her to Steve."

I freeze. "You did _what_?"

Sam shrugs one shoulder. "She called me with questions and I knew I wasn't the guy to answer them. I wanted you discussed in the most honest way possible, so yeah, I introduced the two of them. They get along great, by the way. Steve thinks she's fantastic."

"Yeah, I bet he does," I nearly growl. "You had no right to do that."

Sam frowns. "Why?"

I search frantically for words. "I don't know, because…meeting Steve is personal. That's a huge part of my life. I thought they'd meet eventually but…" I sigh. "I guess I always thought it'd be under better circumstances."

Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know. That's what Steve said too."

I rest my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my palms. "What kind of stuff did she ask him?" I mumble.

"I don't know, all kinds of stuff. She wanted to know where you were at now with the whole brainwashed thing, and why you pushed her away. Really that was her main reason for coming; she didn't like that you tried to force her to think a certain way."

I sigh, hands still muffling my voice. "I didn't know what else to do. It was a—"

"—defense mechanism, I know," Sam finishes for me. He squeezes my shoulder slightly. "If it makes you feel any better she doesn't think you're a bad guy. She doesn't blame you for anything."

I shake my head. "That's where she's wrong. That's where all of you are wrong."

Sam takes his hand off my shoulder and I can hear his voice harden. "No. That's where _you're_ wrong. The people around you don't see you as a threat, Bucky. We all care about you and we all see the good in you. You're the only one who doesn't."

I shrug my shoulders, still refusing to look up. "You don't have to remember the things I remember. If you did, you might see things a little differently."

Sam remains silent.

"See?" I finally lift my head, taking in his impassive face. "You don't know what to say to that. We can all be here celebrating my birthday and what a 'great' guy I am, but at the end of the day, I've spent the majority of my life—of a _hundred_ years—controlled by psychopaths and killing innocent people. In my eyes, there's nothing here to celebrate."

I don't notice that my voice is growing louder until Steve walks over, brows furrowed. "Hey, what's going on?"

"What's going on," begins Sam, standing up. "Is that Bucky here would rather have a pity party than just accept that people care about him."

I stand up in response, fists clenched. I know I'm being ungrateful, especially since Steve put so much effort into throwing the party, but I'm so angry that I don't care. Sam knows exactly how to push my buttons and piss me off, and he's currently using that skill to the fullest.

"Hey," Steve raises his arms, putting a hand on each of our chests. "Come on, guys. Now is not the time for this."

"You know she's going to fight for you?" asks Sam, and my heart stops. "Yeah. She's willing to deal with all your _bullshit_ because she thinks you're worth it. Do you know the amount of effort that's going to take on her part? The amount of time she's going to invest in you?"

I glare at him, unable to avert my gaze from his face.

"You're standing here right now," Sam continues, voice dangerously calm. "Telling me that you're not even worth a simple fucking birthday party, while this girl is going to devote her time and energy to you. How is that fair?"

I swallow hard. "I'm not asking her to."

Sam throws his arms out to the side in frustration. "That's not the fucking point, Buck! The point is that eventually, you need to meet people halfway. We. Want. To. Help. You. We want to help you! But if you don't want to be helped then…I don't know what to say to you."

Sam shakes his head, backing up a couple paces. "Kaila is strong when it would be easier for her to be weak. She's found ways to help herself while also accepting it from others, and honestly, it pains me that she's going to try to hold your baggage along with her own. You may think pushing people away is you being selfless, Bucky, but it's the complete opposite."

"Come on, Sam," Steve mutters. "That's enough. It's his birthday, everyone's here—"

"No. He needs to hear this from me, because we all know it won't be from you." The two men glare at one another for a beat or two, until Sam turns back to me. "Be the guy who's worth Kaila's energy. Put as much effort into helping yourself as she's going to put into helping you. Because if you don't…" Sam shakes his head. "I'm afraid you're going to look around one day and the only person you'll have left will be this guy right here." Sam grips Steve's shoulder. "And maybe one day even he won't be around anymore." Steve just stares down at the wood paneled floor, unable to meet my gaze.

Sam's hand drops from Steve's shoulder and he exhales forcefully. "I'm not trying to be an asshole, I'm just being honest. I don't want you to be alone, Buck, and as much as you won't admit it, you don't want to be either."

My jaw clenches tightly. A part of me knows what Sam's saying is true, and a flash of fear darts through me at the thought of being left completely alone. I've done that before, I've been there, and I was a mess. I want to let people in, but it's hard to feel like I deserve their compassion, and I certainly don't deserve Kaila's affection.

My phone buzzes and I reach a hand into my jeans pocket, turning away from the two of them. I can faintly hear Steve berating Sam, with the latter indignantly defending himself, but I'm too preoccupied with the text message to care.

Kaila: **Happy Birthday! You're 100 years old! Wow! Hope you're having an amazing day. I miss you, thinking of you.**

My heart hammers against my rib cage as I stare at the innocent words on the screen. I want to answer, but I don't know what to say. A simple thank you? That I miss her too? I don't know. There are a million things I could say to her, all of which wouldn't be enough to tell her how I really feel. I'm falling for her, even more so because of what Sam said about her fighting for me. No one's ever fought for me apart from Steve, and I can't ignore the warmth filling my chest at the thought. My index finger hovers over the keypad but unfortunately the ice in me is stronger, a reminder that I'm not worth any of this.

So like the idiot I am, I delete it.

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*Kaila's POV*

I lay in bed Saturday morning, staring blankly at my clean white ceiling. Grabbing my phone from the bedside table I hold my arm directly above my face, opening my messages for the millionth time to glance at the read receipt confirming James got my text. I'm sure he's probably not tech-savvy enough to understand that I can see he read my message, but it still stings. It's been three days since I sent it; obviously he's continuing to ignore me.

I groan, throwing my phone across the room so it lands on my bean bag and dragging myself out of bed to shower. I have a stupid AA meeting today and with the way things are going with James, I'm probably going to be taking the smelly ass bus. Today sucks. If it weren't for the knowledge that I need this meeting to continue healing, I'd stay in bed all damn day.

When I close my apartment door thirty minutes later I stand in place, warily eyeing the brass 7C on the door across from me. This is even more nerve-wracking than the first time I knocked, considering that we now have a history, and a complicated one at that. Taking a deep breath I knock once, waiting a bit before knocking again. Once I've knocked the fourth time I let my arm drop in defeat. He knows I have meetings on Saturday, and he knows what time I'd be knocking. If it wasn't obvious before, it is now; James is definitely ignoring me.

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I grimace as the bus jostles again, readjusting the volume on my phone so Mayday Parade plays louder in my ears. I exhale, wrapping my arms protectively around my middle and leaning my head back against the seat. I hate everything about riding the bus, particularly the lack of seat-belts. I know from experience that the choice between wearing one and not, is the difference between life and death.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to relax in the seat. The bus slows to a halt, letting more passengers on and off. That's another thing about riding the bus; it takes forever, prolonging the amount of time I actually have to spend in the vehicle. I've become so spoiled with James driving me to my meetings for two months, that I actually forgot how much I despise public transportation.

"Excuse me."

I can faintly hear a voice over my music, so I crack my eye open to make sure it's directed at me. Sure enough, a tall male stands before me, gesturing to the empty seat to my right. I nod, taking an ear bud out. Maybe having someone to talk to will make the next few minutes more bearable.

I give him a tight smile and he grins back, setting his backpack down between his feet. "How are you doing?" he asks.

I shrug. "Pretty good. I mean, I'm up earlier than I'd like to be on a Saturday, but yeah, I'm doing well."

He chuckles. "Yeah, me too. But hey, we do this every week to make ourselves better, right?"

I frown at him. He stares back, seemingly confused by my reaction. "I'm Josh, remember? We're in the same meetings."

I smack a hand on my forehead. "Duh, Josh. I'm so sorry." What's with all these men with J-names in my life? Jamie, James, Josh. Isn't there any other letter of the alphabet a name can start with?

Josh shrugs. "No worries. I may be easy to forget, but you're certainly not."

I wince internally, but paste a smile on my lips. "Aw. Well, I appreciate that."

He thankfully just nods silently, and I study him from the corner of my eye. Now that I know he's in my meetings, I wonder how I forgot his tall, lanky frame. His brown hair and matching eyes are relatively unmemorable, but I do recall his long, loping stride as he'd walk into AA meetings.

Josh keeps his hands clasped in front of him, twiddling his thumbs. "So. I don't usually see you on this bus."

"Yeah," I reply. "That's because I don't like to take it. I'm not a big public transportation kinda gal."

He smirks. "Who is? They're dirty, smell bad, and force you to be next to people you don't know."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, turning my head to look out the window just in case I do. _Our reasons for hating the bus are just a bit different, buddy_. _You don't like discomfort, I don't like possible death._

"Of course," Josh continues and I face him again. "I got lucky today." He winks at me and I mentally cringe. He's nice enough, maybe a bit over the top, but the real issue for me is that he looks about ten years younger than I am. Not a problem for many women I'm sure, but as I've recently learned, I apparently like a man who's much _much_ older.

"Here," Josh says, unzipping his backpack and ripping out a piece of paper from a notebook, along with a pen. He jots a number on the scrap, pushing it into my hand. "Maybe we can get together sometime. You know, outside of our therapy sessions."

"Oh…" I respond, not quite sure what to say. Even if he weren't practically a child, I wouldn't text him. These days all I can think about is a muscular, dark-haired, blue-eyed WWII veteran / Siberian assassin. Poor Josh doesn't stand a chance.

I stuff the paper into my jacket pocket, searching for a subject change. "So…" I begin. "What do you do?"

"Um," he reddens. "I'm a student at Columbia University."

I perk up. "No way, me too! I'm in the grad program, working on my PhD. On the side I work on campus, as a full time intern in the History department, which is how I'm thankfully able to keep myself afloat. What about you, how long have you been at Columbia?"

I watch his Adam's apple bob nervously. "I'm a sophomore, double-majoring in Poli-Sci and English."

I raise my eyebrows, so impressed I let it pass that he's seven or six years younger than I am and flirting with me. "Wow. That's an awesome combination. Are you thinking of law school?"

He nods.

"That's amazing. Let me know if you ever need help, alright? As someone who's already been an undergrad at Columbia, I know the ins and outs. Think of me as another professor-type figure you could come to, alright?"

He nods again, slightly less enthusiastic this time. He knows I've put him at arm's length as far as the whole 'romantic' thing. Good.

The two of us continue to make small talk, covering a wide variety of topics from school, to politics, to our individual struggles with alcoholism. It's nice to talk to someone outside of meetings on a one-on-one basis, especially someone who knows how hard recovery is. I learn that he began drinking heavily during high school after the suicide of his best friend, and that his parents never knew about his addiction. Josh actually took the initiative of putting himself into rehab, something I find immensely impressive. He may be young, but he's got a solid head on his shoulders, which is more than I can say for myself when I was twenty.

I gaze across the gray water as we cross the last bridge before our destination, thankful that our journey is almost over. I've survived my first public transportation experience in two months, a feat I'm very proud of, and I've had great company to pass the time with. Of course, I should know by now that anything can happen at any time. After all, it's not over until it's over.

Josh leans forward slightly in his seat to see out the window, frowning at the eighteen-wheeler coming up behind us. "That guy's going pretty fast, huh?"

I shrug, intentionally keeping my eyes averted. Staring at other vehicles on the street just freaks me out.

"Um…okay, something is definitely up."

I glance at Josh, who's still gazing out the window. "What? What's happening?"

"The eighteen-wheeler has caught up to us and they're two lanes over, but their blinker is on. Like, they're changing lanes towards us, but there's no room. Wait…holy fucking shit."

"What?!" I stare at him, panicked. "Josh?!"

"Fuck, I think they're going to hit—"

He doesn't finish his sentence.

I'm thrown into Josh as the side of the bus is slammed into, sending us spinning across the road. I don't know how long we're moving, and despite the numbness washing over me I can just register Josh's hand wrapped tightly over mine.

I'm aware of the screaming around me and the screech of tires, but I only have one thought: I was lucky in an accident once. There's no way I will be again.

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*Bucky's POV*

I sit in the kitchen of the Avenger's Compound, absentmindedly pushing my scrambled eggs around with a fork. I take a sip of coffee, hoping it will settle the nausea in my stomach. I woke up this morning feeling unexplainably sick, an unusual occurrence for a genetically modified human like myself. I pass it off as something I possibly ate the night before, though I highly doubt it. I know I feel guilty for ignoring Kaila's knock this morning, the first time in two months I haven't driven her to AA, and I can't fight the unwelcome thought that something terrible is going to happen. Maybe I'm overreacting and being overprotective, but something doesn't feel right. After years of being an assassin, my intuition is rarely wrong.

"You alright?" I glance up, surprised to see Tony sitting down across from me.

I consider just nodding, but something stops me. I shake my head. "I have a weird feeling, that's all."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Care to elaborate?"

I shrug. "It's probably nothing. I just feel like something bad's about to happen."

Tony crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat. "You're not usually here on Saturday's, right? Something about driving a girl around?"

I laugh slightly, dipping my head to focus again on my eggs. "So that's not much of a secret anymore, huh?"

"Are you kidding?" Tony grins at my embarrassment. "That kind of gossip is gold around here. Considering that we save the world, our social lives are pretty dull."

I shake my head, still laughing despite myself. "Her name is Kaila. I usually drive her to a meeting on Saturday. It's become our thing."

Tony furrows his eyebrows. "Then why aren't you with her today?"

I shrug. "We had a falling out about um…the whole Winter Soldier thing."

"Ah. I can see how that'd be problematic."

I nod. "Yeah."

Tony nods too, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. "Sometimes I get those 'weird' feelings. It's usually when Pepper's in trouble."

My eyes lock on his. "You think Kaila's in trouble?"

Tony jerks his head. "I'm not saying that, so don't freak out. What I am saying is that when you have a connection with someone, you can feel when they need you. Call it a sixth sense, I don't know. But don't ignore that feeling in your gut."

I run a hand through my hair. "I knew I shouldn't have ignored her this morning."

Tony frowns. "Why are you ignoring her?"

"Because according to Sam I'm wallowing in self-pity." I don't know why I'm telling Tony all this, but it spills out anyway. "Apparently I'm being selfish by pushing her away, even though I think it's for her own good."

Tony sighs. "That is messy. Well, as someone who's spent a lot of time in the self-pity pool, my recommendation is to get out. Quit wallowing. It's not easy but once you do, it'll make your life a hell of a lot easier. Secondly, even though it may be the hardest thing to do for someone you love, you have to let people choose what's in their best interests. We're all adults here; you shouldn't decide what Kaila can and can't do."

I redden at Tony's word choice. "I'm not in love with her."

"Yet."

I don't know how to respond, knowing that he's right. I'm heading in that direction more quickly than I care to admit, even to myself.

Tony's phone rings and I'm left in silence to mull over what he said. Tony grins at me triumphantly while pressing the accept button, holding it to his ear. "What did I tell you about calling me on weekends?"

I furrow my eyebrows at Tony, and he curls in the middle and ring finger of his left hand, mimicking the gesture Peter makes when he shoots his webs. I nod in understanding, chuckling.

"Okay, Peter, look…" He rolls his eyes at being cut off, and I smirk, taking the last few bites of my breakfast.

"Peter…Peter…Peter for god's sake, shut up and listen to me. I hear you, alright? We're on our way. Just hold tight until we get there." He hangs up, quickly dialing a new number on his phone.

As he waits for it to ring he makes eye contact with me. I grow cold at the look on his face. "Bucky, get suited up and grab everyone else that's upstairs. We need to go."

I nod, immediately following his orders. As I run down the hall knocking on doors, all I can think about is the nausea I've carried around all morning and the fear that something awful is about to take place.

Well, something has happened. And I would bet any sum of money that Kaila is there.

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*Kaila's POV*

Everything feels familiar.

My ears are ringing and the tangy taste of iron fills my mouth, courtesy of biting my tongue on impact. My entire body shakes, and despite the fact that I'm amazingly calm, I can't stop it. I may not have fully registered what has taken place yet, but my body certainly has and it's reacting accordingly. It's all so similar that I half expect to turn my head and see Jamie with me.

Of course when I do all I see is Josh, which is enough of a reality check to get me out of my head. The floor is littered in broken glass and I unsuccessfully try to avoid it as I crawl over to him. He's curled around the seat across the aisle from ours, shakily pulling himself up onto his hands and knees.

I put a hand on his shoulder, running my eyes over his form, searching for any injuries. There's a cut on his temple and scratches on his hands and face, but seemingly nothing too serious. I hope I can say the same for myself.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

He nods, eyes skimming over me as well. "I think so. You?"

I exhale, working hard not to hyperventilate. "I think so too."

Somehow we help each other to our feet, turning our attention to those on the bus with us. Luckily at this point in the bus route, there aren't many people on board. I count about 15 others, the bus driver, Josh, and myself, all seemingly okay. We're battered and bruised and scratched up from the glass shards, but I don't see anything more serious than maybe a dislocated shoulder and some concussions. How we all survived, I don't even know.

"I've already called 911," says an old woman clutching a blue cardigan around her frail shoulders. Both her hands are bleeding and there's a bruise blooming on her left cheek, but her voice is steady. "They should be here soon."

"Should we stay on the bus?" a man behind us asks, looking to the bus driver at the front for help.

The bus driver nods, massaging the area where the seat belt dug into his chest. "Yes, I'd say so. If we get off, I'm worried we'd be in danger from incoming traffic. If we stay on the bus, the police will be able to find us all easier."

Everyone agrees and I peek out the shattered windows to assess the situation. We've stopped maybe three yards away from the edge of the bridge, a miracle that we didn't continue sliding straight over into the water below. The left side of the bus is dented inward, having received the brunt of the hit, though the vehicle is still upright.

Traffic has stopped on the bridge and cars are backed up as far as I can see. The eighteen-wheeler that hit us lays on its side, stretched out across multiple lanes. Apparently the impact and the weight of the truck caused it to tip, while we fortunately just spun. I again thank whoever and whatever that we're all relatively unscathed.

This accident feels different from my last one, less disastrous somehow despite its size. There's something comforting about being surrounding by seventeen other people who have just been through the same incident, as opposed to kneeling on the side of the road alone, desperately trying to get my fiancée to wake up. My first accident felt personal, especially since it cost me the most important person in my life. This time I take solace in those around me, and the fact that we've all survived. The police are on their way, the mess will be cleaned up, and we will be able to go on with our separate lives.

"Is the trailer door opening?" asks Josh, and I direct my attention back to the turned over eighteen-wheeler. Sure enough I can see it shaking slightly, as if someone were trying to open it from the inside. We watch in fasciation as the door slides open, revealing people dressed in civilian clothing. They hop out of the trailer, seemingly unhurt, yelling indecipherably at one another as they exit the vehicle. I count almost twenty of them, men and women, all built like athletes. Two men clamber out from the body of the truck, also unscratched despite having been the driver and front passenger.

"What were they doing back there?" Josh says at my shoulder and I can only shrug helplessly in response. "How are they all…okay?"

I shake my head, just as confused.

The driver and passenger walk around to the back of the trailer, pointing at two other men and gesturing towards the open door. The men crawl back in, returning with large guns in their hands. They pass them out in a line until all twenty individuals have one, slinging the black straps over their shoulders. My blood turns to ice.

"Get back," I say, forcing myself to stay calm. "Everyone, get back. They're armed."

Collectively we all creep towards the back of the bus, watching in horror as the men and women stalk towards the front door. With the butt of his gun, the driver smashes the glass of the bus door, making enough of a hole for him and a few of his followers to come through. I notice a flash of red and blue out of the corner of my eye, but I can only focus on the six people standing in front of us. The rest circle the perimeter of the bus, glaring at us through the smashed windows.

"Everyone get down," the truck driver yells, and we all immediately sink to our knees. My heart pounds and I grip Josh's hand tightly.

"Good." The man smirks, pointing his gun toward us, lazily aiming it at different people. My throat closes when it passes in my direction and I can feel Josh's hand sweating in my own. I'm sure mine feels just as clammy.

"So," the man continues. "This can be easy, or it can be hard." His hard eyes search over our little crowd. "I need one of you to stand up and die for the rest of this bus. Everyone else walks away unharmed; I just need one."

None of us move. We glance at one another, looking away quickly if we actually make eye contact. Of course none of us want to stand—I certainly don't—so we all wait, hoping that someone else will, but dreading the moment it happens. What sort of fucked up shit is this?

"No volunteers?" He asks, grin stretching across his face. "Do I need to pick?"

"What's the point?" yells a middle aged man closer to the front. He's tall and burly, hairline receding slightly. "Huh? Why only kill one of us? What did you crash into us for?"

The drive glares at him. "Are you volunteering?"

"No, I'm not. Just questioning what the fuck you're doing on our bus."

I close my eyes briefly. If the situation weren't so serious, I'd laugh at the unchanging audacity of New Yorkers. We hate a lot of things, and close to the top of the list is people telling us what to do and people screwing us over. Apparently this guy isn't going to stand for either.

The driver continues to eye him coldly, then laughs. "Unfortunately I can't answer your question, because we really _don't_ have a point in being here. But how kind of you to ask."

With that, he shoots a bullet straight through the man's forehead. We all scream, gripping the person closest to us. Brains and blood of the middle aged man splatter across the bus, and his body falls forward limply, thumping onto the floor.

I lean against Josh's chest, my arms wrapped around his torso. Slimy pieces of brain are tangled in my hair, and the front of my coat is covered in blood. I almost vomit at the sight and smell, and the woman in front of me actually does. She retches onto the floor, sobbing and shaking.

"So," continues the driver. "I'll ask one more time and then I'm picking. Who's going to volunteer?" He steps forward, nudging the dead man with his foot. "He doesn't count."

We all continue to stare at him, wide-eyed. No one stands. The only sound comes from people's whimpers; I'm honestly not sure if I'm one of them.

"Fine." He smirks. "Makes it more fun anyway." His eyes scan the bus, ensuring that he holds the gaze of every single person, making us sweat.

He locks eyes with me and I instantly know.

"You." He points a finger. "Come here."

I numbly stand up on knocking legs, ignoring Josh's whispered protests. I walk through the row of people, chin raised, pointedly avoiding their faces; I don't need to see the mixture of pity and relief there. Stopping in front of the driver he shoves me towards the door of the bus with his gun, forcing me to step outside. I have no idea what his plans are.

Three of them, the leader included, herd me until I'm standing on the edge of the bridge. Swallowing hard I gaze down at the gray water below, trying to calculate the probability of my survival from this height. I may not be a math expert, but I don't think it's very high.

The thing that frightens me most in this moment is how calm I am. I should be screaming, crying, begging for them to spare my life, but I'm not. I'm just standing here, taking in the river with resignation. I can't pretend that the idea of being with Jamie again hasn't crossed my mind, but that's not a good enough reason to jump off a bridge. Right?

"You should feel good about yourself."

I glance at the driver, who's smirking at me. "You're saving seventeen lives."

"If you don't kill me, you could save eighteen. Wouldn't that feel even better?" I'm even surprised by my response.

A few of them laugh, their leader loudest of all. "Now wouldn't that be nice." He pushes me closer to the end of the bridge, my toes creeping over into nothing. My stomach drops and the reality of what's about to happen hits me. I resist the urge to cry, my mind straying unwillingly to James. I know he'd stay tough, though he also has the ability to drop these guys without sustaining a single injury. I'm not as talented; all I have left is my pride.

"Any last things you want to say, smart-ass?" He sneers, hands pressed to my lower back.

I shrug. "Just wish I could've finished my PhD."

And then I'm falling.

I'm probably yelling, I don't really know, but I focus on the gray water as it rushes towards me. I've heard that hitting water from this height is like slamming into concrete and I close my eyes, not looking forward to the moment my body splats into the Hudson. This is like a car accident, but from higher up. Fuck me.

Suddenly something wraps around my upper right arm, jerking me to a stop. My arm pops out of the shoulder socket and I groan in pain, closing my eyes tightly. My body hangs suspended until it begins to rise at a slow pace, inches at a time, causing me to look up. A sticky, white substance is attached to my limp arm, strong enough to prevent my tumble into the river. On the other end of the rope is a lightly muscled individual wearing red and blue spandex, someone I've only seen in newspapers. I've just been rescued by fucking Spider-Man. Which means…

Sure enough, I see a flash of red and gold as Iron Man swoops by. He aims at the men and women on the ground, who are now frantically yelling and firing, bullets glancing harmlessly off Iron Man's suit. Falcon (or I guess I now know him as Sam) follows Iron Man's path, shooting his own guns back at the attackers, using his wings to deflect anything that comes his way. Arrows fly through the air, courtesy of Hawkeye, who's perched on top of the flipped over trailer. The Scarlet Witch stands next to him, moving her hands in a beautiful choreography, manipulating objects and people around her. Vision flies past her head, coming down on the people below.

A quick figure in black also catches my eye, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a couple other women, having disarmed them minutes before. Black Widow's agile and swift, disposing of her opponents easily despite being outnumbered, moving on to the next men without hesitation. Seeing her fighting on the ground, I search through the fray, desperately trying to find him. Sure enough I see him near Captain America, the two working together flawlessly. He punches and kicks at anyone who comes near, using his exposed metal arm to protect himself from any bullets sent his way. Steve tosses him the shield and James uses it for his own purposes before throwing it back, Steve seamlessly catching it and taking out a few more guys.

I knew the Avengers were good. But seeing them in action is beyond badass.

I drink all of this in during the thirty seconds it takes to get me back on the bridge. Spider-Man detaches the web from my arm, making sure to set me carefully down on solid ground. I wince, holding my useless right shoulder with my left hand. Yup, definitely dislocated.

"Are you alright?" he asks. I'm shocked by how young his voice sounds.

I nod. "I'll take this over death any day."

He sighs. "I'm sorry about your shoulder. It all happened so fast and I wanted to save you, obviously, and just…"

I wave my left hand. "It's fine, please don't apologize for saving my life, okay? It's an easy fix."

He shakes his head, scuffing his foot guiltily against the ground. "I guess." He perks back up, becoming all business. "Alright, you need to get with everyone else while we wrap this up. They're all back there—" he gestures vaguely—"where the police are. Hang tight, okay? What's your name?"

"Kaila," I reply, before he's taking off. I don't even know if he heard me.

He shoots his webbing at a man running towards him, yanking the gun out of his hand before rapidly shooting at him again, pulling him forcefully forward.

I run quickly away from the exchange, finding Josh standing beyond the perimeter of police cars. The officers are stationed outside of their open vehicles, guns in hand, but only able to helplessly watch the fight taking place before them. There's nothing they can do, they'd only be in the way. The Avengers have things more than under control. We New Yorkers know that they've handled way worse.

Josh hugs me when I reach him, all formalities between us gone, and I cry out slightly from the pressure on my arm. He pulls away quickly. "Are you hurt?"

I shrug with my left shoulder. "Dislocated shoulder, I think. From being caught mid-fall."

He exhales, running a hand through his brown hair. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Me too."

"Listen up," says a police officer. "Ambulances have arrived, we're going to get you all out and to a hospital. Things will be taken care of here."

I'm ushered through the back doors of an ambulance, turning my head to catch another glimpse of James. He sends a hard punch at the head of a man even taller than he is, dropping him instantly. When he falls, James glances up and I swear we make eye contact for a second before he runs over to Captain America, helping him with three other guys.

I stare at his form through the windows as we drive off, wishing for his safety above all else.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

*Bucky's POV*

"Well that was a great little warm-up guys," says Sam, dropping on the couch next to me in the Compound.

I roll my eyes at him, running a hand through my hair, still damp from sweat. "I guess it was easier than most, but I wouldn't call it a warm-up."

Sam glances over at me. "Oh, you and I are talking again?"

I glare at him. "Is that alright with you, asshole?"

He grins at me, patting me on the shoulder. "Absolutely."

I smile back. There's nothing like a good fight to get us all back on the same side.

"Who were they?" asks Steve, taking a stool at the bar. His question is to the room at large, but his eyes remain on Tony.

Tony shakes his head. "I can't say. But they seemed a lot like you, right?" He gestures to me.

I shrug. "As far as strength and endurance, yeah. How is that even possible? Who would be in charge of them?"

Tony rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut. "Do you think we could do our post-battle briefing at another time? I'm personally more interested in a cheeseburger and a bubble bath than puzzling over some now dead super soldiers."

We collectively agree, all eyes turning to Peter as he walks back into the room. He had been on the phone with his Aunt May, reassuring her repeatedly that he was safe and unhurt. Everyone made fun of him for it, but I envy him for having someone who cares so much.

"There he is!" yells Sam, getting up and clapping him on the back. "Way to be quick about calling us in, Pete."

Peter shrugs, face flushing. "It was nothing, really. Just knew I couldn't handle it myself, that's all. Not that impressive."

"Well," responds Tony. "It was the right thing to do and the smart thing to do. Way to go, kid. And if I'm not mistaken, did you _personally_ save a life?"

Peter nods modestly. "Yeah. They pushed a girl over the bridge. I was able to catch her before she hit."

"Any idea who she was?" asks Steve.

"Um…" Peter scrunches his eyebrows, sitting next to Steve at the bar. "I think she said her name was…Kaila? Maybe?"

I sit upright. "Kaila? Are you sure?"

Peter shrugs. "I think so. Short, black curly hair, brown eyes."

"That's her." I swallow hard. "Is she alright?"

Peter nods quickly. "Yeah, she's totally fine. I just dislocated her shoulder when I caught her, but…"

I stand up, not bothering to let him finish his sentence. I can hear everyone else calling after me, but I'm already out the door and in my car. It's been a few hours since the fight this morning. For a dislocated shoulder, she shouldn't be in the hospital long. I'll look at home, then go from there.

My stomach turns as I drive back into the city, trying to piece together what I'm going to say to her. I was thinking of her during the entire altercation, something in the back of my mind telling me she was there. I thought I glimpsed her getting into the ambulance, but it was so far away and I was so focused on helping Steve that I wasn't sure. Now hearing Peter's story, I know for sure. All that matters now is that I check on her and apologize and tell her how I feel and maybe kiss her and…

I exhale forcefully, slowing down my rapid thoughts. I need to fix things with her. She almost died today, and she would've died thinking that I didn't care about her. I can never, ever let something like that happen again. If nothing else, Kaila needs to know how damn important she is to me. I'm done pushing her away, I'm done running from my past. I want her; it's just that simple.

I pull into the lot outside our apartment building, taking the stairs three at a time as I rush up all seven floors. When I reach her door I'm barely out of breath, quickly knocking on the dark surface. My heart is pounding, but not from exertion. It's been a week since I've last seen her, seven days which have felt like eternity. I need to see her and tell her that as far as I'm concerned, her and I are going to be just fine. _More_ than fine.

Kaila opens the door, right arm wrapped in a sling. She raises her eyebrows slightly at the sight of me, taking in my sweaty appearance.

"How can I—" she begins, but I cut her off.

I frame her face in my hands, putting my lips against hers, careful not to jostle her shoulder. She freezes at first and I worry she's going to pull away, before I feel her lips move back against mine. It's just as electric as the first time we kissed and I wonder how I've gone an entire week without being near her. Her left hand clutches my jacket, pulling me closer against her warm body.

We pull away, foreheads touching, both breathing heavily. She tilts her head back to make eye contact with me, smirking. "I assume you're here to make up?"

I grin. "Yes please."

Her entire face lights up and she nods her head towards the inside. "Then come on in."

I've never been so happy to walk into that cheery, little apartment.


	12. Chapter 11: Makeups and Makeouts

AN: Ah I'm sorry it's been so long! I'm in a million different clubs on campus plus I have school and life is wild! But don't worry, as long as you don't give up on me I won't disappoint you guys.

I hope you enjoy this fluffy filler chapter and please, please, keep up with the reviews. They will always keep me motivated to write this story :)

Lots of love,  
Vccle10

*Bucky's POV*

"Can I get you anything? Water? Soda? Food?"

I shake my head no.

Kaila walks over to the living room couch, plopping down and patting the empty spot next to her. I can't help but recall the last time I sat there and the disastrous argument which followed. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing.

I sit next to her, keeping space between us, suddenly feeling awkward in her presence. After the original kiss at the door, my confidence has vanished. I faced twenty likely genetically modified humans today without an ounce of fear, yet here before Kaila my heart pounds rapidly in my chest.

She breaks the silence of course. "I'm glad you guys showed up today. It was looking really bad."

I nod, relieved to find a topic of conversation. "Yeah, I am too. I think…was it one fatality?"

Kaila sighs heavily. "Uh-huh. He was shot on the bus, right in front of us." Her left hand plays idly with the ends of her curls. "I got some of his brain in my hair.

I close my eyes briefly in disgust. "Are you alright? I know physically your shoulder, but…mentally?"

She lifts her left shoulder. "I guess. I mean, being in another car accident sucked. Watching a guy get shot was even worse. And almost falling to my death capped it all pretty nicely. Definitely not the best morning I've ever had."

Guilt twists in my stomach. "I'm so sorry that I didn't drive you this morning. I heard your knock, but…" I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know. I guess I wasn't sure what to say to you. If I had just opened the door…"

Hey." Kaila fixes me with a stern look. "I hate 'what if's', alright? Don't do that to yourself. I'm completely fine; everything's okay."

I reach out my right hand, squeezing her left softly. "I can't even tell you how happy I am that Peter caught you."

She arches an eyebrow. "So that's Spider-Man's name? Peter? Huh." She sits on it for a second, chewing her lip. "How old is he anyway?"

"I don't know, fifteen, sixteen. Younger than you'd think."

She nods, seemingly impressed. "Well, next time you see him, thank him again for me. Does he feel guilty about my shoulder? Because please tell him he shouldn't; the alternative was literally death."

"I wouldn't worry about it. He's just happy you're safe." _And so am I_.

Kaila grins, settling comfortably into the corner of the couch. "Good."

Silence settles over us and I continue to hold her hand, gazing down at her pale skin while my thumb strokes her soothingly. I missed the warmth and softness of her and the way she always smells like cinnamon. The reality that she came so close to dying this morning scares the shit out of me. At this point, I know I can't live without her.

"So…should we talk about the elephant in the room?"

I glance up to see her brown eyes boring into mine. "The elephant?"

"Or the Winter Soldier, if you'd prefer."

I swallow hard, unconsciously releasing her hand. "Ah. I guess we should, right?"

Kaila nods. "Yeah. Do you mind if I go first?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

Kaila stands up from the couch, walking to the center of the living room, still facing me. She squares her shoulders, though I don't miss the look of pain that flashes in her eyes when she does. Despite her sling and small stature, she's still an imposing figure. "What I have to say is important, so I want to stand up for this."

I can't help but smile.

Her face softens, encouraged by my reaction. "Okay, first thing's first. You should know that I've already talked to Steve. I'm sorry it was behind your back, but—"

I hold up a hand to stop her. "I already know. Sam told me, and I understand why you did it. You don't need to apologize." I grin at her. "Okay, I'm done. I promise that's the only time I'll interrupt you."

Kaila smirks. "It better be."

She clears her throat.

"In short, James, I don't care. I don't care that you were the Winter Soldier, I don't care about your past, because that's what it is, the past. I care about you and that's it. I care about your well-being. And yes, I care about us. More than you know. You're imperfect, I'm imperfect, but I think we're good together. You make me feel safe and believe me, that's not an easy accomplishment."

She takes a breath. My heart warms at hearing that I make her feel safe. I'm pretty sure I've never made anyone feel that before. Or at least, anyone in the past 70 years.

"James…I can't imagine your pain. I won't pretend I can. But I hope you'll let me in. I hope you'll let me see you at your worst. I just…" She loses steam, shrugging. "I wish I had a better conclusion, but that's what I have to say."

Kaila walks back over to the couch, sitting while she looks at me tentatively. "Do you have anything you'd like to say?"

I silently pull my glove off my left hand, taking her small hand in my metallic grip. She doesn't hesitate, wrapping her fingers around mine.

"I want you to see who I am," I reply, eyes trained intently on her face. "But you need to understand…it's not easy for me to receive your affection. I don't feel like I deserve it." My voice breaks off and I'm embarrassed by the waver in my voice. My eyes sting. Here I am trying to win back my girl and I'm starting to cry.

"I know," she whispers, eyes filling as well. "I know it won't be easy, but I want to work at this. For you. For emus/em. Please let me. Please."

I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak. How did I become lucky enough to meet this amazing and patient woman?

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" I whisper hoarsely.

Kaila smiles slightly. "You helped a stranger in need."

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

*Kaila's POV*

It's funny that the last time James was in my apartment, it was a great night turned into a disaster. This time, it's disaster turned into a peaceful and relaxed afternoon. I suppose it just proves that no matter how awful things seem, it can always turn around with time.

James lays in the center of my living room floor, head propped up on one of my couch pillows. My head rests on his firm stomach while his fingers lazily comb through my wild hair. I wince occasionally as his fingers become stuck in the curly mess, but he always gently disentangles them before continuing his soothing motion. My eyes are closed, allowing myself to completely enjoy this moment.

Sun streams through my slotted blinds, casting the warm midday sun in stripes across our bodies. Traffic noises filter from the streets below, but all I care about is the sound of James' even breathing and the beat of his heart under my head. He's so steady, so strong, so calm. I know he thinks he's the lucky one, but I strongly beg to differ.

"So," James says softly. I keep my eyes closed, though I'm pleasantly surprised that he's the one to initiate conversation. "You told me your favorite band is Mayday Parade."

"Oh yeah," I respond. "They're absolutely my favorite."

"Tell me about them."

"Hm, okay." I scrunch my forehead, thinking. "Well, there are five of them. They're technically a punk band, I guess, so definitely not a genre that existed in your time. Probably a little too crazy, a little too loud for your generation."

I turn my head slightly so I can grin at James. He just rolls his eyes at me.

"But anyway," I say, turning my head back so I'm staring at the ceiling again. "Have you ever listened to a band or singer where it just feels like they get you? Like they're living your life and putting it into song? That's how they make me feel. So of course, that's the music I want to keep coming back to."

"Huh," James replies thoughtfully. "I don't think I have."

"Well then we need to find you that music. Hey, maybe it's Mayday, you never know."

"Maybe." He chuckles. "What do they sing about?"

I exhale. "Um, a lot of heartbreak, but that's every band. They sing about depression too, anxiety, loss. Things that I can relate to."

James' thumb sweeps across my forehead. "Me too."

We stay silent for a moment, neither of us wanting to dive too far into the heavy stuff and ruin the moment.

"What's your favorite song by them?" he asks.

"Really? That's like asking me to pick a favorite child. I can't possibly do that."

"Fine, top three then. I need to check them out."

"Oh man…" I purse my lips, mentally flipping through their albums. "I guess I'd have to say… 'Hold Onto Me', '12 Through 15', and…" I stop myself suddenly, accidentally sending too much air down the pipe. My throat gets caught on the word. I cough, sitting bolt upright.

"Are you okay?" James props up on his elbows, concern marring his face.

I shake my head, pushing myself up to the kitchen to get water, eyes streaming. I gulp down a glass, quickly followed by another. The burning in my throat subsides and I wipe my face with a paper towel, my face quickly warming from my very unnecessarily dramatic coughing fit.

James stands behind me, hands rubbing my shoulders. "You sure you're good?"

I nod. "Yeah, totally. Sorry, that was weird. I just breathed in too quickly. I'm fine."

I turn to face him, smiling up at him reassuringly. "C'mon, don't look at me like that. It's all good. Seriously."

"Okay…" He remains unconvinced, eyebrows furrowed. He pulls me gently into his embrace and I rest my head against his chest. His left hand strokes my back, the metal cool through my t-shirt, while his right sinks into my hair. "I can't have you dying on my watch, okay?"

I know he means it as a joke. It _is_ a joke. People say that all the time. I should laugh or say something cute and clever back, but I can't. I just nod, afraid that if I answer I'll cry. I'll cry because somebody important did die on my watch. I'll cry because my favorite Mayday Parade song is 'Jamie All Over.' I can't say the title, but I still listen to it on repeat. Jamie used to call it his song, so hearing it makes me feel connected to him.

I came so close to saying his name. It would have rolled freely off my tongue if I hadn't suddenly stopped it. Maybe that's the scary part. In the arms of this new man, this new interest in my life, I forgot about the pain of Jamie. The pain of saying his name. And that split second of forgetting terrifies me more than being pushed off the bridge mere hours ago.

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

*Bucky's POV*

To say I've been keeping a close eye on Kaila all day is an understatement.

Since her frankly terrifying coughing episode, I'm carefully watching her every move. I know she's fine, of course. Even I've choked on air. But the thoughts behind it are what worry me; there's something in her eyes that I don't understand.

A few more hours have gone by of me at her place, leaving us currently curled up on her couch watching a show called emOutlander/em. She told me I'd like it for the time travel and the World War II elements, but I find myself blushing in the first ten minutes as a couple begins to make love on screen.

I clear my throat. "I'm going to grab you some ice and…Advil. Yeah. I'll be right back."

Kaila frowns at me, apparently not bothered by what's on screen. "Do you want me to pause it?"

I shake my head, keeping my eyes averted from the bare breasts on screen. "No, that's okay. I'll just be a second."

She pauses it anyway, arching an eyebrow at me. "It's because of the sex, isn't it?"

"What? No." I scoff.

"James. I seem to recall that during episode nine of emBand of Brothers/em you also conveniently left. Why? Oh yeah, there was a sex scene."

My face warms. "I'm just concerned for your pain, that's all." I walk over to her kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Advil from the counter and an ice pack from the freezer. Wrapping a towel around the pack, I sit with her again on the couch, carefully positioning it against her shoulder.

Kaila still eyes me playfully. "So…you don't mind if I just…" She hits play.

I instantly turn my eyes away and she pauses it again, laughing. "James! You're all flustered!"

"Stop," I mumble, failing to keep myself from smiling. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are!" Her eyes dance and I'm caught up in the pure joy on her face. "Does sex disturb you?"

I sigh. "Do we need to get into this?"

She nods, grinning. "I think now we have to."

"Fine. It's just…it wasn't in the movies then. And I definitely wouldn't talk about it with a woman unless…"

Kaila arches her eyebrows. "Unless you were having sex with her?"

I nod. "I guess, yeah."

"Just out of curiosity, how long has it been?"

I shake my head at her. "Okay, now you're really just trying to embarrass me."

"No, I'm not, I'm not, I promise. I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me, I was just wondering." She touches my shoulder gently with her good hand. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." I take a deep breath. "It's actually been since 1943. I haven't had…intimacy, with any woman since then."

Kaila's eyes widen. "Really? Not anyone?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"But…haven't you wanted to?"

I shrug. "I mean, most of the time I was trapped and didn't know who I was. My only thought was to kill and follow orders. I didn't really have any interest or freedom to pursue relationships with other people."

She winces. "Of course. Yeah, that makes sense. Duh. Sorry for asking such a stupid question."

I laugh at her. "It's not a stupid question, it's fine. I'm not offended." I take her left hand and kiss it softly. "But um…if you don't mind me asking, how long has it been for you?"

Kaila shrugs—both shoulders—and immediately doubles over in pain. "Oh shit. Oh shit. I completely forgot. Oh fucking shit."

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay. It'll pass. It'll be okay." I gather her against my side, careful not to jostle her bad shoulder. "Think of something else while it passes. Like…" My mind searched frantically for a distraction. "Steve didn't have sex until he came to this time period."

"What?" Kaila forces through her teeth. "Seriously?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, I was much more popular than he was. He was smaller than all the girls, so that didn't help him much."

She chokes out a laugh, face still scrunched in pain. "What the fuck. Who knew relocated shoulders hurt so fucking bad." She glances at me sheepishly. "Sorry for the profanity."

I shake my head. "Don't be. I don't blame you." I've dislocated the shoulders of many people in my life and had mine done as well. It's nothing to joke around about.

Kaila's breathing starts to calm and I know the spasms are finally passing. I brush the hair off her forehead. "You good?"

She nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

"Alright. Good." I lean in, gently pressing my lips against her injured shoulder.

When I pull back, Kaila's gazing down at me, eyes bright. Our eyes are trapped on one another and I feel electricity coursing through my body. I swallow hard. "Hopefully that makes it feel a little better," I whisper.

"It does," she whispers back and suddenly she's straddling my hips, hand tangled in my hair, mouth quickly finding mine.

I breathe in her scent, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist, consciously aware of her pressed against my jeans. Her hips shift slightly as she kisses me, leading to me groaning against her mouth. This only gives her the opportunity to touch her tongue against mine, deepening our kiss. I could do this all day.

Aware of her injured shoulder, I gently move Kaila on her back while I hover over her on my elbows, lips still connected. Her legs wrap tightly around my waist and I groan softly again, feeling myself tightening in my pants. At this point, I'm past caring.

My lips leave hers, trailing down to kiss her neck. This time it's her turn to moan, arching her head back to give me easier access. I suck gently at a point on her collarbone, making sure it's hidden by the top of her shirt. She gasps, her right hand drifting beneath the hem of my shirt and sliding up my bare chest.

I shudder at her touch, loving the feeling of her fingertips lightly running up and down my chest and stomach. "God," I breathe against her neck. It's been so long since I've been touched this way and being touched by Kaila is a million times better than anyone else.

I kiss back up her neck, giving some attention to her jaw before moving back to her lips. I slow down the pace this time, taking my time, allowing our lips to move lazily against one another. Her hand still traces my abdomen, leaving goosebumps wherever she touches. When her fingers brush the sensitive skin just above my belt, I finally come up for air.

"Sorry," I breathe. "Sorry." My forehead rests against her chest, trying to regain my breath. "I just…I need a minute." I sit up, leaning my head against the back of the couch.

Kaila scoots back on her good elbow, sitting up against the arm of the couch. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…yeah."

I shake my head. "No, no. Not your fault. You're great. So great."

She bites her lip, trying to stop the smile from spreading across her face. "That was…"

I grin at her. "Yeah. It really was."

Kaila slides over to me, leaning against my chest as my arm wraps around her shoulders. "Was that moving too fast?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "You'll just have to be willing to take breaks." I smile down at her. "It's been a long time. My…tolerance so to speak isn't what it used to be. Especially when it comes to you."

She beams. "I can be patient. And James?"

"Yeah?"

"You make me feel really good, too. Like…extremely good."

I kiss the top of her head gently in response.

It's not until later in the evening that I remember Kaila never answered my question about past intimacy. It isn't until I'm laying in bed that night that I realize maybe I should be concerned about it.


	13. Chapter 12: Just Another Sunday Morning

AN: Hey all! Another update, wow! Another cute little filler for today before the story keeps progressing into bigger stuff. I thought you guys all deserved some nice, no drama Kaila / Bucky love since you've had such random updates.

Enjoy, and as always, please review! It really helps me a lot.

Lots of love,

Vccle10

*Kaila's POV*

Everyone knows how the saying goes: time flies when you're having fun.

Whoever coined that cute little cliche knew exactly what they were talking about. Time is flying and I am having the best time in what feels like forever.

Nearly a month has gone by since James showed up at my door, flustering me with his surprise kiss. Since that lazy Saturday afternoon, we barely spend any time apart. Sure, we still sleep in separate apartments and he spends time with his friends and I with mine, but we always carve out time to be together.

There are few things more exciting than a new relationship. The hesitant touches, the seemingly endless questions to get to know one another, old favorite spots and experiences made new due to set fresh of eyes. I've taken him to seemingly every museum in New York City, filling in whatever gaps I can about what he's missed. It's perfect; I love talking about it and he drinks in every piece of information.

Much to my delight, we also spend a lot of time double-dating with Lora and Robyn. I wasn't sure how James would feel about their same-sex relationship, due to his time period and upbringing, but he never misses a beat. He gets along seamlessly with both women, making it enjoyable for the four of us to go out to dinner or the occasional movie.

Lora often asks in private if I've told James about Jamie yet, but I always brush her off. In my opinion, James and I aren't serious enough to have that discussion. We aren't even an official couple yet; we're feeling things out, seeing what the two of us look like together romantically. Though it's obviously working so far, I don't feel a need to bring up the subject. Of course, if I'm honest with myself, I know my hesitance is because I don't want to ruin the harmony we've created. Life is good. I want to keep it that way.

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Rolling over in bed, I snuggle closer into my soft pillows, exhaling. I love sleeping in on Sundays, patiently waiting for the knock on my front door. Sure enough, I hear three taps from the front of my apartment. I check my phone: 11am, right on time.

Dragging myself out of bed, I take a second to decide if I should put a bra on, like I do every other Sunday morning. Deciding against it, I throw a sweatshirt over my t-shirt, shuffling to the door and opening it with a sleepy smile.

"Good morning," James chuckles, pecking me on the cheek as he enters.

"Good morning to you, too." I smile, closing the door behind him.

He sets a couple bags and coffees on my round wooden table before turning around and gently wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans down to kiss me, but I interrupt him.

"I have morning breath…" I resist.

He rolls his eyes. We go through this every Sunday. I don't know why I even bother anymore. "I couldn't care less. I'm superhuman. That stuff doesn't bother me."

I furrow my eyebrows. "I'm not sure it works like that…" I reply teasingly.

"As long as I get to kiss you, I don't care how it works." James softly captures my lips with his and I melt into his muscular arms. His lips taste salty from his morning workout, but I barely notice at this point. I don't care about his sweaty self, he doesn't care about my rancid breath. It's a good system we have going here.

When we finally break apart I head over to the table, rummaging through the ingredients James brought. We switch off providing and cooking breakfast every week, another fantastic system we seemed to wordlessly agree on.

"What do we got?" I mumble to myself, pulling out the carton of eggs, along with spinach, mozzarella, mushrooms, and ham.

"Omelets?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He nods, settling at the table with his coffee. "That's what I was thinking. Good with you?"

"Absolutely." I start the burners on the stove, greasing two frying pans for our meal. "No cheese in yours, right?"

"Yes, thank you," he replies.

I roll my eyes. "Healthy bastard." I look over my shoulder at him. "Doesn't it bother you that you're like, incredibly productive on Sunday mornings only to return to me, the half-dressed, un-showered bum across the hall?"

James laughs at me. "I wouldn't say half-dressed. You're wearing pants and a shirt and everything."

"No bra, though. So, technically not fully dressed by society's standards." I turn back to the stove, whisking eggs in a bowl.

James clears his throat. "Oh?"

My cheeks redden, feeling his intense gaze on the back of my neck. I can't even look at him. I may jump him right here.

I nod, before pouring the whipped eggs into the pans. They sizzle on contact and begin to cook. Putting the burners on low, I turn around to face him again, giving him a suggestive smile.

James raises his eyebrows at me. I raise mine back at him, waiting for him to do something. He doesn't move, silently sipping his coffee. I hop on the counter, resting on my hands behind me. This action pushes my chest out slightly. James swallows hard, but still doesn't rise.

A few more seconds go by and just when I think he's going to let me sit here like an idiot forever, he stands up and walks over to me. Standing between my legs, he takes my face between his hands, an action I love; there's something really interesting about having one side of my face warm while the other rests on cool metal.

"Thank god," I whisper. "I thought you'd never come over."

James nudges his nose against mine, mouth ghosting over mine. "You could have just asked."

"I didn't want to move too fast," I murmur back. Since that afternoon in my apartment, James and I have only fooled around over the clothes. I know a huge part of it has to do with the time since he's been intimate with a woman, but I know his left arm is another huge factor. I don't know if he's afraid to hurt my body with his metal hand or what, but I've been respectful of his limits. I know he'd do the same for me.

He chuckles. "Well that depends. What do you want me to do?" His teeth nip my ear, sending chills down my spine.

I swallow hard, finding it difficult to form words as his mouth moves down my neck. "I mean…whatever you want."

James shakes his head. "No. Tell me."

I close my eyes, head falling back against the wall. "I…I can't…"

"Then show me."

I exhale shakily, grabbing his wrists from where they rest against my hips. When did he move his hands? I don't even know.

I can feel his pulse beating rapidly under my left hand and I'm sure he can feel mine in my neck. It's like we're teenagers. Every little action feels completely new for both of us.

James pulls back from my neck, looking me in the eye. He clears his throat. "Go on." His voice is husky and low, only turning me on more. "You direct me. I'll do what you want me to."

I grip his wrists more firmly in my hands, maintaining eye contact with him as I slide his hands underneath my layers of sweatshirt and t-shirt. I inhale slightly at the feeling of his warm and cold touch against my bare stomach. I'm so caught up in the moment, I forget to be insecure about my body.

As if reading my thoughts, James tightens his right hand reassuringly on my abdomen, stroking his thumb gently over my skin. His left hand remains noticeably still, barely ghosting over my body.

"Anything you do with your right hand, you can do with your left hand," I whisper.

He sighs. "I don't want to hurt you."

I shake my head. "You won't. I know you won't."

"I'm stronger than you think," he replies. "If I get caught up in everything and I forget my grip, I'm afraid I'll…"

"Hey," I cut him off. "I trust you. If you're holding me too hard I'll tell you, alright?"

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "Yes. Now, please." I lean in pressing my lips lightly on his. "Please touch me," I whisper.

I feel James' left hand tighten on my right side and I grin in response. I gently stroke my hands up both his forearms and back to his wrists while we kiss, enjoying the feeling of his hands securely holding my body. But I need more.

I slowly move his hands up my body until they're resting against my rib cage. James exhales, breath shaking. "Your heart is beating really hard," he whispers.

I laugh softly. "Yeah, I'm sure." I swallow hard. "Before we keep moving…up, so to speak, I don't have very big boobs."

James frowns at me. "What?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I don't want you to expecting this huge fistful of boob and be disappointed."

He chuckles at me, kissing my forehead. "Someday, you'll remember that I have a metal arm. I'm in no place to critique anyone else's perfectly normal body."

"Touché, I guess," I respond. Okay. Here goes nothing.

I let out one more breath, before moving his hands up to rest against my breasts. I immediately gasp at the contact, especially on my right breast, where his cool metal thumb gently strokes the sensitive skin.

James' lips find mine and our tongues meet as his hands press against my chest. I'm caught up in the heady feeling of his thumbs circling against each bud, but still, I know I need more.

Removing my hands from his wrists and acting before my thoughts can catch up and stop me, I grip the hem of my sweatshirt and t-shirt, simultaneously pulling both over my head and tossing them on the linoleum floor. Time stops.

James hands drop back down to my hips, eyes fixed on my chest. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my body, silently waiting for him to react. I don't really care much about him seeing my breasts; I'm more concerned about the obvious creases in my stomach now revealed to his gaze.

I straighten up slightly, breaking James' concentration and causing his eyes to fly back up to meet mine. His hands frame my face like before and he smiles gently at me. "You're so beautiful."

I could cry. I won't, of course, but I could. "Yeah?"

"Definitely." He kisses me. "So…so…beautiful." Each word is punctuated by a kiss on my lips.

"Thanks," I reply, knowing I'm probably blushing bright red. "So…" I try to get my sexy attitude back. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do about it?" He arches an eyebrow at me.  
"Yeah. What's your next move?"

He wets his lips quickly, hands moving back down my torso until they rest on my hips, lips beginning their descent down my neck. Only this time, I know he's not stopping there.

James places hot, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, moving down to my sternum. I hold my breath. I feel like I may explode from the anticipation.

Holding my left breast gently in his hand, his mouth comes down to capture my right breast. I let out an audible sigh, head tilting back. His tongue flicks against me, while his right hand massages the other side. After what could've been a minute or hours or wait, how does time work, he switches sides, metallic hand on my right breast while my left receives attention from his mouth.

My hands curl into his soft hair, tugging at the strands to direct him where to go. Moaning, I crack open an eye, jumping suddenly at the sight of my eggs burning on the stove.

"Shit! Shit, shit shit!"

James immediately moves back from the counter, confused, while I jump off shirtless, turning the burners off. I stare helplessly at the black mess in the pan. Well, there goes that.

Swinging around to look at James, I take in the amused look on his face. I must be quite a sight to look at it; messy hair, baggy sweatpants, completely shirtless, lips most likely swollen from all our kissing.

I roll my eyes at him. "Alright, alright. You can laugh."

He does, shaking his head. "You're just…you're something else, Kaila Liebgott."

I tilt my head at him, smiling back. "Well, so are you James Buchanan Barnes."

I walk over to him, snuggling in between his arms. His hands stroke circles on my bare back and I relax from his touch. I love how we can go from passionately wanting to rip each other's clothes off to innocent, soft touches like this.

I place a kiss against his clothed chest, since that's as far as I can reach. I'm sure he doesn't mind.

James gives me one last squeeze before letting me go, bending down to pick up my sweatshirt. He eyes me over once more, grinning. "I'm definitely not complaining, but here. I'm sure you'll want this."

"Thanks," I respond, tugging it over my head. I sigh, glancing again at the burnt eggs. "Guess we'll have to try again? And like, actually succeed this time?"

He nods. "Looks like it."

i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

"I gotta say," says James, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Second try omelets are always better than the first."

I roll my eyes. "Uh, okay. If you say so."

He gives me a smile. "If burning omelets means I get to spend _that_ type of quality time with you, I'll make that sacrifice every single time."

I laugh. "Me too." I raise my eyebrows suggestively. "That was exciting."

"Mm," he replies, taking a sip of water. "I'd say."

I can't help but admire him, looking perfectly gorgeous with his blue eyes, stubble, and shaggy hair. His t-shirt molds to every muscle on his body and I admire the muscle on both of his arms. How can I do this with him without having him be mine? Like, officially? I don't think I can.

"Hey." I clear my throat. "Can I ask you something? Well, two somethings really."

James nods. "Always."

"Okay, cool." I stare at the table cloth, picking at a loose string, not understanding why I'm suddenly so nervous. I mean, I know he likes me. I mean…duh.

"So, first, there's this big gala happening at Columbia University next Friday night to celebrate graduate students. And…" I glance up at him and he raises his eyebrows encouragingly. "Do you want to be my date?"

A smile stretches across his face, lighting up his eyes. "Of course. I'd be honored."

I sigh in relief, gaining confidence from his response. "Awesome. And also…do you want to be my boyfriend?"

James stares at me, mouth dropping open slightly. Oh god. Oh no. This is like with that stupid double date, except this time, I have no cop out. I just asked him to be my boyfriend. Point of no return.

I scrunch my nose at him, waiting for his response. My entire face burns and I swear, I sit there for a million years waiting for his answer.

"I'm sorry," James responds and I internally panic. That's not a great way to start it off. He shakes his head, as if clearing his mind. "Of course I will. Are you kidding?"

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until it all comes out. "For real?"

James nods, his infectious smile back on his face. He takes my hands in his, squeezing slightly. "I was just expecting to ask you. I'm not used to, ya know, the roles being reversed."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Old 1940's habits and such."

"Exactly." James leans in, kissing me. "I hope you know I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have you as my girl."

My entire body melts at his words, heart fluttering in my chest. I don't usually care about this kind of thing, but James called me his girl. I'm _his_ girl.

"And I hope you know I feel the same way," I reply. In the back of mind I can feel Jamie's presence, nagging at me, but I push it aside. I want this moment with James. I need this moment with him. He's the one sitting in front of me right now, heart open, allowing me in.

I know I'm the luckiest girl to have him. But as we make plans for the remainder of our day, the guilt ebbs and flows like waves, reminding me of the other man I said that to years ago.


End file.
